


Excavate

by Dirade



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Blankgameplays - Freeform, Coffee, Conversations, Cooking, Crying, Dark Magic, Darkiplier - Freeform, Demons, Disney Songs, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Inspired by Music, Isolation, Loneliness, Music, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Panic Attacks, Platonic Cuddling, Spirit Animals, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-05-15 06:34:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 20,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14785340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dirade/pseuds/Dirade
Summary: Ethan is 17 when he discovers his powers.orthe YouTuber magic au that no one asked for.ps basically the same universe, but with magic





	1. Fill My Lungs Up

**Author's Note:**

> Ethan discovers his powers.

Ethan is 17 when he discovers his powers. 

 

He is alone when it happens, so it's born as a secret before it becomes anything else. Maybe that's why he never tells anyone. If it appeared to him as a secret, maybe that's all it can be without being destroyed. He doesn't want to destroy it, not just because a secret is sacred, but also because it's his, only his. 

 

Few secrets belong to one person alone. The nature of a secret is to keep the stolen air hidden from everyone else. But for the air to be stolen, it has to be breathed first. So a secret kept on the inside isn't a secret at all; it's just a thought. A scary, dangerous thought, maybe, but until it is spoken, just a thought. 

 

But this secret is special. Ethan doesn't breathe it into the air and yet it exists outside of his body, his mind. It's his own special kind of secret. 

 

He’s lying in bed with it happens, the pulse of music pouring through his headphones to fill his head like water rising in a bathtub. He’s floating away from his body, and yet he’s hyper-aware of himself. There’s the sensation of the soft blankets against his skin, the warm caress of sunlight on his torso, the steady inhale and exhale of air traveling through his body. He’s falling into the sensations around him, floating away from reality and sinking into it all at once. He stares into the muffled blackness behind his eyelids and feels exhilaration rise in his chest. The music is crescendoing, building upwards in a coalescence of sound that he can feel thrumming beneath his skin. Just as the wave of noise crashes over him in all its deafening glory, light glows behind his eyelids, flickering red and orange across his field of vision. 

 

He blinks his eyes open, expecting to see the burning glare of a lightbulb and a family member’s patient face, and is instead greeted by a glowing, blue… something. It's almost like a liquid, but it seems to have a kind of sentience. It twists and curls in the air of his dim bedroom, lazy and fluid like the stuff inside of a lava lamp. It's neon blue, luminescent like particular paints under a blacklight. Ethan follows the twisting line of its form to his own hand and sees that it's coming from his palm, flowing out of his skin like a plant emerging from soil, and that’s the tipping point. He doesn't know why he was almost unperturbed by the glowing blue substance crawling around his room independently, but something about seeing it leaving his body, pulled from his own flesh and leached from his own blood, disturbs a primal instinct in him that wasn't awake before. 

 

He opens his mouth to scream, and, just like that, it all disappears; the glowing blue  _ thing  _ vanishes without so much as a gust of air and suddenly everything is the same as it’s always been. His hand is human and pale, his room is lit only by the sinking sun peeking through the window, and the air is as invisible as it has always been. The scream dies in his throat, dissolving into sand that trickles into his lungs and makes his insides itch with anxiety. 

 

Ethan stares at his hand, turns it from back to palm, flexes his fingers. His hand is shaking, but he's only dimly aware of that fact, just like some part of him is also aware that his music has devolved into something soft and tranquil. Those things don't seem important right now. 

 

Could he have just imagined it? Could it have been some sort of hallucination, or perhaps the remnants of a particularly vivid dream? Could it have been a simple trick of the light? 

 

He sits up, tugging his headphones from his ears. His breathing is suddenly the loudest thing in the room, filling the hollow space inside his body and pushing the music away. 

 

He stares at his hand, something like trepidation forming in his throat. He tries to reach down inside himself, conjure up the power that seemed to come from his very own skin. He tries to mentally push something he can’t really define out of his palm. Faint static buzzes in his ears. 

 

His hand twitches. 

 

He waits, holding his breath, but nothing more happens. His hand is shaking a bit, but it's not blue and it's not glowing. Maybe he just imagined it after all. He only saw it for a second or two anyway. 

 

Yes, he decides. He must have imagined it. Still, he doesn't put his headphones back in until he’s sure that his parents are home. 

 

-

 

It’s a few days before anything else happens. Ethan is wandering through the woods near his house, headphones in, dragging his fingertips along the bark of trees that have stood in this place longer than he’s been alive. The music is slow and sweet, a sad kind of sound that speaks of magic, of a siren dragging a man beneath the water, yellow eyes glittering in the darkness under a moonless sky. It tugs at something in his chest and he lets the feeling rise up inside of him, filling his lungs, filling his head, rising up out of him like sunlight and wonder and hope. 

 

His fingers start to glow. 

 

It’s the same fluorescent blue as last time. It starts small, so faint that Ethan thinks he’s imagining it, but it strengthens as he stares at it, until his fingertips are unmistakably abnormal, painting patterns that trail through the air as he grazes along the trees. It's not the syrupy flow of its previous appearance; it’s thin and wispy, the edges of it smudged into nothingness. It looks like blood diluting in water, winding through the air for just a moment before dissolving away. 

 

He's not afraid this time. He's not sure why. Maybe it's the subdued, soft nature of it that makes it less disturbing than the sentient goo from before. Maybe it's the music in his ears, soothing his mind and settling his head and telling him that this is right, that it can't be wrong to discover the magic that people write songs about. Maybe he knew it wasn't just in his head. Maybe, deep down, he was waiting for it to return. 

 

He watches it twist between his fingers, the glow of it seeming to pulse with the beat of the song. The music spikes momentarily and Ethan feels a spark of that familiar lightness in his chest, the exhilaration particular to immersion in sound, and as he watches, a coil of energy rises from his palm, flickering like a flame, before vanishing completely. 

 

A smile pulls at his lips and he lets his mouth stretch into a smile. He swivels his wrist, flexing his fingers. The energy doesn't feel like much; mostly there's just the faint sensation of a breeze caressing his skin. But then Ethan extends his hand, palm up, trying to push the energy forward. It's not just the breeze anymore; he feels a tugging, a pull on something that feels like it's in his arm. He feels it in his chest, too, but that's the pull of the music, the strange longing to remember something he's never experienced. He pushes that emotion through his body, out of his hand, and in his concentration he exhales sharply, a sort of huff. 

 

It works. Emerging from the center of his palm is a of spire of bright blue energy, like the turret of an ancient building, but organic in a way architecture could never be. It's two pieces, twining together as they stretch toward the sky, like thick vines growing into each other after years of living side by side. 

 

Wonder floods his senses, filling him up with the white luminescence of amazement. The glow brightens, the spire branches outward, spreading through the air, and the music builds, feeding the fire inside of him. He feels  _ connected  _ to something, even if it’s something he doesn’t understand. He feels like he’s answering a call he’s heard his whole life but never been aware of until now. 

 

The music is beginning to dwindle away, its last notes echoing in his ears, and as it fades so too does the magic flowing from his palm. The spire withers in his grasp, delicate curls retracting into the main trunk as the entire thing sinks into the skin of his palm. By the time the final note sounds there’s no trace of the mystical thing that sprouted from him other than a faint blue glow in the center of his palm, and as the song seeps into silence the glow vanishes altogether. In the silence, he is human once again. The pull in his chest dies down, settles into a dull ache beneath his sternum that he could ignore for years on end. 

 

He’s not going to ignore it, though. Not this time. 

 

He thumbs his phone back to life and picks another song. 

 

 


	2. Pour My Heart Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan moves to LA.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for loneliness and sadness, nothing bad but just there in case anyone is squicky about it.

Ethan starts to spend more time alone. There’s almost nothing that he cares about more than understanding, learning about, his powers. It’s linked with music, he discovers. It comes to him easiest when songs sing sweetly in his ears, when the rhythm pounds in his skull until he can’t imagine anything else. 

 

It takes different forms depending on the tone of the music. Sometimes it's composed of elegant spirals. Sometimes it forms as jagged spikes. There are times when a crescendo causes his magic to leap toward the sky, and other moments when it seems to expand around him like a deep inhale. It changes shape as easily as water, yet it always retains that fluorescent blue glow. 

 

As time passes, he learns to wield it. He learns to manifest it outside of his body. The energy no longer needs to maintain contact with his skin; instead, he can make blue orbs float through the air, untethered to his body. He can make vines of unnatural hue wind around the trunk of a tree. He learns to control the form it takes, the music to play to access particular feats. 

 

Some things don’t change, though. It’s always that strange, bright blue. And some part of him always glows when he’s using his powers. Sometimes it’s his palms, like he’s cradling something beautiful and precious in his hands. Sometimes it’s his veins, a gentle sparkle beneath his skin. Once he caught the reflection of his eyes in the window, gleaming like lighthouses in the dark. It’s been stranger things, too. His hair. His nails. It seems to correspond to the magic he’s using in a way that almost makes sense, though he could never explain it in words. 

 

He never tells anyone. He could give the superhero response, wanting to protect his family from whatever dangers his powers might hold, protect himself from ostracization and experimentation. He could say it’s because he doesn’t trust anyone enough to share it, that even though he has close friends it’s not the same as having a group of people to rely on, that he doesn’t want to place the burden of this knowledge on just one other person. He could say that he doesn’t want his friends and family to think he’s crazy, and even if they don’t, he doesn’t want to be an attraction, a sideshow like an animal in a zoo. He could say all those things, but he knows he would be lying. 

 

Because deep down, he knows why he never tells anyone. He wants this to be his, his alone. He doesn’t want to share it. It's a strange, almost instinctual desire. It's a craving, so strong he has to bend to it, to keep and keep and keep. 

 

He doesn't know where it comes from. It's not like he's never had something of his own before. He's kept secrets; he's had private hiding spots to retreat to when the world seemed too big and loud and cruel. But, still, the craving is there, and so he never tells anyone. Because if he did, this thing, whatever it is, wouldn't be  _ his _ anymore. 

  
  


The craving grows when he moves to LA. 

 

Suddenly his whole life is on display. He has fans, people are recognizing him when he's in public, he gets thousands of messages every day. Suddenly it feels like nothing is private. Suddenly people know his family, his birthday, which is all normal and fine for the most part, but they also know what high school he went to, where he wanted to go to college, things he can't remember telling anyone, and that's weird. He's not scared, exactly, but occasionally he'll stumble upon people contacting his family or looking for his address, and there's a sinking sensation of wrongness to that, something that settles oily and cold in his stomach. 

 

But it's fine. This is his dream. This is everything he's ever wanted. Sure, some things are weird, but they're nothing in the face of the shining beacon of all his wildest wishes being granted. 

 

Still, it becomes more important than ever to have something that's just his. 

 

So he makes sure to hide his powers. He only uses them at home, when he's pulled the curtains and locked the door, or when he's absolutely sure that he's alone. He tries to be careful about it, even though subtlety isn't and has never been his strong suit. 

 

He's been doing well. He's starting to settle in to his new life, he's becoming more comfortable around Mark and crew, and, most importantly, he's managed to keep his powers under wraps. He's been in LA for about 6 months, now, and it's everything he's ever dreamed. And yet… it's not enough. 

 

Some part of him feels empty. 

 

That empty space seems to fill, just a little, when he's out with everyone, talking and laughing and joking around. It fills when he takes a picture with a fan. It fills when he talks to his father on the phone. But as soon as he's alone again, everything drains away, and he's empty. 

 

He doesn't know why he feels this way. He almost hates himself for it. He has everything he's ever wanted, and yet he's unhappy. Unfulfilled. What else does he want? What more could he have? 

 

He doesn't hate himself, though, because he knows the answers to those questions. He misses his old friends, his family, his dogs. He misses the connection he used to have with other people. He misses the closeness and the affection and the easiness of being around someone he trusts. 

 

That's the thing about being around Mark; Ethan looks up to him. He wants to impress him. He wants to be the best he can possibly be and nothing else as long as Mark is looking at him. And that's not necessarily a good thing. Ethan is pushing himself harder than he ever has in his life, he's creating things that he's proud to put out into the world, and he's having a good time while doing it. But he can't keep up that kind of passionate drive all the time. He can't be 100% during his every waking moment. He can't sustain it. That kind of outward energy, the acute awareness of everything he does, is exhausting. It's rewarding and amazing, but exhausting. 

 

The problem is, he doesn't know anyone else besides Mark and his friends. He's on the other side of the country, and he doesn't have anyone he can let his guard down around and he feels alone, even though he knows that he's not. 

 

So he retreats back into the magic. 


	3. Peel My Bones Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it weird that I kind of want Ethan/Teamiplier to see this? I mean, I know that creators don't really read fanfiction, probably because of the bigger time commitment (compared to fanart), accessibility, and content, but it would still be really cool if any of them did see this? Is that weird or like really self centered? But at the same time it's also nice to create things for this little pocket of the community, y'know? And I feel like some things I write are so cringe so maybe I don't want anyone to see it ever. I don't know, just some thoughts that I wanted to share.

He’s able to call the magic forward from his own mind now, conjuring music from inside himself rather than from an external source. He just needs to concentrate on a specific song, imagine the dip and swell of sound, and he can use his powers without the aid of his ipod or phone. It takes more focus, and it tends to be weaker than the magic that manifests when he’s blasting music through his headphones, but that doesn’t really matter. He doesn’t need his magic to be powerful or overarching. He just needs it to be his own. 

 

And it is. If nothing else, this magic is his own. He's started calling forth a particular kind of magic, on his loneliest days. It’s from a tune he heard in his childhood, something sad and sweet that came back to him when he was sitting in the darkness of his room, wishing for anything like human contact. He started to hum it to himself, though the sound warped and cracked as it made its way around the lump in his throat. His eyes were closed, but he became aware of the gentle glow of his magic, the familiar pull on his heart. Still, he didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t need to see it, not now. Even that comforting blue couldn’t help him. 

 

He just felt so alone, so empty, and he knew that glowing swirls weren’t enough to fill that space inside of him. So he let himself drown beneath the emotion spreading through his body. He let it crash over him like a wave, fill his lungs and cloud his head, and then he let it pour out of him in broken song. And then he felt something brush against his cheek. 

 

He made an undignified squeaking sound as he scrambled backwards, blinking rapidly as he pressed himself against the headboard of his bed. Above the foot of his bed, hovering in the air, was… something. The first thing he noticed was its blue glow, the same as his magic. So it was his. The second thing he noticed was that it seemed… alive? His power normally showed itself as abstract shapes, patterns carved in the air. But this had an almost anthropomorphic quality to it. It was made of soft, amorphous shapes that melded and coalesced, becoming one before drifting apart again. It seemed to have a head, a slightly smaller blob, and a body, which rippled and shifted beneath his gaze. It didn’t seem to have limbs. Instead, the edges of its form tapered into wisps that faded into nothingness as they wafted through the air, like licks of fire vanishing into smoke. It had two darker patches on what Ethan had decided was its head, ovate and glossy things, deep enough that Ethan thought he might lose himself if he stared at them too long. It was like looking at a bottomless lake and gazing into the eyes of a foal all at once, always wondering what was lurking beneath the surface. 

 

That was all he had time to process before the apparition began to fade. 

 

Ethan started to panic. “Wait! Wait, I -” His words became the tune he was singing before, wordless and off key, and the creature’s glow flared back to life for a moment before wavering like the single flame of a candle. Ethan fumbled across his bedside and grabbed his phone. He managed to unlock it easily enough, but when he tried to google the song he found that his hands were shaking, and he kept hitting the wrong letters. He couldn’t quite remember the song title, if he ever knew it at all, but he knew that it was from that movie that he had watched over and over as a child, so he searched that, finally managing to get his hands to cooperate, and scrolled through the song titles. He kept singing, though he was sure he could see the creature beginning to shrink out of the corner of his eye. He played parts of a couple of the songs before he found the right one. 

 

He almost didn’t recognize it from the first few notes, but something kept him from moving on to the next song. Then it got to the main tune, and Ethan felt it spill over him like the shadow of an eclipse, something sweet and magical derived but not made from the sun. The creature’s glow strengthened and Ethan raised his head to stare at its sleek form. It glided towards him, and Ethan found that he was no longer afraid. 

 

He extended his hand toward it as it came closer, and the creature slid beneath his hand, brushing against his palm. It was smooth and soft as water, only slightly firmer than a liquid, gooey, almost, but not sticky or slimy. It was faintly warm, too, like touching a water balloon left in the sun, but without the thin plastic between flesh and liquid. It was a strange sensation, and yet Ethan felt comforted, reassured in a way that didn't quite make sense. 

 

The creature bobbed closer, nuzzling his shoulder and bumping his cheek like an affectionate kitten. Ethan giggled, and his laughter turned into hiccups, and then the hiccups turned into sobs, and then he was crying. Silent tears spilled from his eyes and he made a strangled, guttural sound as he swallowed around the lump that had suddenly reappeared in his throat. The creature bumbled around him, almost like it was concerned, before settling on his chest, curling close to his heartbeat. 

 

Ethan wrapped his arms around it in a hug and just let himself feel the contact, the sensation of warmth on his touch-starved skin. He forgot how much he missed this. He missed having casual contact with people; he missed physical affection. He'd been feeling so alone lately, detached from everyone else, and this  _ thing  _ coming to nurture his aching soul, even if it was just something that he created for himself, made an immense, unspeakable kind of emotion fill him. It was something like pain, something like love, something like sadness. It filled his senses, overflowed and filled the entire world, and Ethan could do nothing but cry. 

  
  


Since then, Ethan’s been calling the creature forth frequently, whenever he starts feeling the isolation of moving to a strange new place more acutely than usual. He affectionately calls it ‘Blue,’ cooing at her (why and how he's decided she's female is a mystery even to him) with a gentle smile whenever he says it. It's not the most creative name, but no one else has even seen the creature, so he can’t quite make himself care. She comes to him easily, now. He barely has to hum the tune for Blue to appear, and he can maintain her presence without much effort, almost like an afterthought. 

 

Perhaps he becomes too careless. Perhaps, deep down, he knows that Blue isn’t enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohh, foreshadowing...  
> I have the next couple of chapters written already, but I can't decide if I want to just post them all within the next week or space them out so I can be more consistent. But then again, when have I ever been consistent in my updating schedule?


	4. Grab My Window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discovery.

He’s editing something for Mark. It’s a collaboration between Mark and Tyler. They’re laughing together, telling each other inside jokes. They look so happy, so comfortable with each other. There’s an air of familiarity between the two of them that makes Ethan’s chest burn, a sheet of heat just beneath his skin. He’s not jealous of them; he knows that they would welcome him into their world, that they have welcomed him into their world, with a kindness that’s almost more than he can handle. But seeing the ease with which they interact makes Ethan long for his friends back home. He misses the comfort of being with his brother, the careless way he could spout nonsense to the people he’s spent his entire life with. He misses knowing the people around him and, more importantly, knowing his place within all that. 

 

He knows he’s been given an opportunity many people would kill for. He knows that this is the reality of his dreams coming true. But still, he’s unsure, afraid,  _ alone.  _ He wants to throw himself into this new life headfirst, but he just… can’t. Not yet. Because he knows that if he puts himself on the line like that, if he puts all of himself out there, he’ll have nothing left. 

 

What if everyone here doesn't actually like him? Sure, they seem to like him now, but he’s holding back. What if all of him, his every quirk and idiosyncrasy, is just too much? What if he gives all he has and they just throw it away? Or worse, what if everything he has isn’t enough? What if it’s just a matter of time until Mark and his friends see the real Ethan and decide he’s not worth their time? What if Ethan gives all of himself away and is left with nothing? 

 

No, he can’t do that. He can’t be… everything. He’s not ready. 

 

So instead he sits in the darkness of the editing room, trying to push down the burning sensation in his chest. He's not going to cry. Not over something as stupid as this. 

 

So, instead, he calls Blue to him, humming quietly as her familiar glow swirls into existence from the nothingness. He breathes out a laugh as she nuzzles against his wrist, and he strokes a hand over her sleek body. He does still want to finish editing the video, so he pulls up Blue’s song, now purchased, on his phone, and plays it just loud enough for him to hear. Blue scampers across his shoulders before tumbling to the floor, circling his chair. 

 

Ethan watches her for a moment before getting back to work, playing the clips again to see what needs to be cut out. 

 

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, working by the light of the screen and the dim lamp in the corner, but eventually he puts the finishing touches on, watches the video through in its entirety, and saves his work. He gives a satisfied sigh as he leans back in his chair, pushing himself away from the computer. 

 

Blue weaves between his legs, leaping up into his lap when he pats his thighs. “Hey there,” Ethan coos, gathering her up into his arms. He gets out of his chair and settles himself on the floor, rolling his shoulders as he guides her back to the ground. He plays with her for a bit, letting her dart around the room until she seems to get bored, repeatedly bumping into his side to get his attention. 

 

He hums some old songs, a curl of magic blooming from his palm. Tendrils of energy spiral through the air, and Blue bats at them playfully. He keeps pulling the glowing thread toward himself until Blue jumps into his lap. He lets his voice and the magic fade away until only Blue remains, and Ethan hugs her close to his chest. He presses a kiss to her head, though the sensation feels muted against his skin. He sees the video’s thumbnail out of the corner of his eye and sighs. “I think you might be my only friend, Blue,” he mumbles. 

 

“Ethan,” a deep voice says from the doorway. “That’s not how you really feel, is it?” 


	5. Shed My Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for panic attacks and emetophobia (very brief and non-graphic)! 
> 
> What's that? This story is my fandom diary? Well, you're sure right about that. See the end notes for more emo dialogue.

Ethan can't breathe. Panic infiltrates all of his senses as he whips around to see Mark leaning casually against the door frame. His calm tone matches the nonchalant, if slightly sad, expression on his face. He exudes that lazy ease with which he seems to do everything, unconcerned with what lays at stake, and it just makes Ethan more afraid.

 

Ethan can barely take a breath past the sharp pain in his chest. It feels like his ribcage is caving in, like his lungs are rotting and he’s inhaling his own blood. Everything hurts and he can see Blue darting around out of the corner of his eye and he’s scrambling desperately for his phone to switch the music off, somehow manages to do it without taking his eyes off of Mark and he sees Blue dissolve in his peripherals but he doesn't feel better because now he's alone and Mark _knows._

 

The reality of the situation is starting to sink in, an urgent scream somewhere within the ringing that’s filled his head. He gets to his feet, he’s shaking, and he thinks he might throw up. _Mark knows Mark knows Mark knows._ His mind screeches, fills his skull with the red blare of sirens, but those words remain clear, cutting him to the very bone. _Mark knows Mark knows Mark knows._

 

He’s breathing too hard, too fast, the world is starting to spin and blur and warp around him until suddenly Mark speaks again.

 

“Ethan?”

 

Everything in him goes still. He freezes, he stops breathing, and even his heartbeat seems to go quiet. It's the moment that the prey sees the predator, that terrible stillness that is the difference between life and death. Fear rises up inside of him, an all-consuming, mind-numbing fear, as he waits in the stillness.

 

And then Mark straightens up and takes a step forward, just one step, but that's all Ethan needs. His entire body explodes with adrenaline-fueled energy as he sprints forward, shoving past Mark and out into the hallway. He can hear Mark shouting behind him, something he can't understand because all he can comprehend is the need to run, run as fast and as far as he can, run until his lungs give out, run until he's safe.

 

And that's exactly what he does. He runs like his life depends on it, just listening to that blinding animal instinct inside of him.

 

He doesn't even get in his car, but somehow he finds his way home. It's only a handful of miles away from Mark’s house, but it's safe. He can breathe again as he unlocks the door with trembling hands, but only in great, heaving gasps that seems to cut at his lungs. He tastes blood, sour and coppery in the back of his throat, and as he steps inside he starts shaking with exhaustion. He’s covered in sweat and his whole body aches. He manages to make it to the bathroom before he throws up in the toilet, gagging on the taste of bile and tears.   


He collapses in a heap on the floor, leaning against the wall of his shower and panting. His eyes burn with fresh tears, but he doesn’t bother wiping them away, allowing them to stream down his cheeks as he stares up at the ceiling, dimly lit by the light of the hallway.

 

The panic is finally beginning to subside. He listens to the deafening thump of his heart, beating so violently that his ribcage throbs. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do. What can he do? _Mark knows._ There’s nothing he can do to change that. His secret is out.

 

Through the fear, it doesn’t feel as bad as he thought it would. He thought he would feel loss, disappointment, the keen emptiness of letting go of something he’s clung to for so long. But he doesn’t feel any of those things. The magic is still his alone. That much he knows for sure. Even if other people know, they can never take that fact away from him.

 

He finds comfort in that. His blood whispers through his veins rather than pounding in his skull. He’s going to be okay.

 

But still, there’s the issue of Mark. Because _Mark knows._

 

His first plan of action has to be making sure Mark doesn’t tell anyone. He reaches into his back pocket for his phone, but it’s not there. He feels panic beginning to creep back into the edges of his consciousness, but he pushes it down. He needs to remain calm and figure this out. He can’t do that if he sends himself into another spiral of terror.

 

He takes a couple of deep breaths before standing up and splashing his face with cold water. “I can do this,” he mutters to himself, catching the glint of his eyes in the mirror. He repeats the phrase again, a little bit firmer. “I can do this.”

 

He pats his face dry and steps out of the bathroom, checking the table to make sure he didn't put his phone down when he entered the apartment. As he expected, and dreaded, his phone is nowhere to be found. He left it at Mark's.

 

“That's fine,” he tells himself, wiping his sweaty palms on the legs of his pants. “It's going to be fine.” He flops down on his couch and flips his laptop open, running a hand through his hair as he boots up his email.

 

_Dear Mark,_ he types. Then he deletes it. That's too formal. _Mark,_ he tries instead. Then he stops. What can he even say?

 

_I know you probably have a lot of questions. I promise that I will explain everything, but for now I need you to please not tell anyone what you saw. We can talk tomorrow._

__\- Ethan_ _

  

Ethan exhales heavily, scrubbing a hand over his face. He can't say more than that. If Mark is going to know, he needs to hear it from Ethan in person. Ethan hits send before he can change his mind.

 

In seconds, the screen cheerfully replies ‘message sent,’ and, with a sinking certainty, Ethan knows that this is it. His secret, the one thing he held close to his heart, the one thing he kept for himself, is out there now. This is the end. Or maybe it's the beginning.

  


 

The next day Ethan goes to Mark's house early. He's clean, surprisingly well-rested (the panic really wore him out once he recovered from it), and the brisk walk allows him a little more time to think. Honestly, though, he's done thinking. There's no way around this; not anymore. He thought about lying, telling Mark that there really wasn't anything after all, but he doesn't want to do that. Mark has treated Ethan so well, welcomed the younger man so readily into his life; he deserves to know the truth. Besides, Ethan has kept this secret long enough. Somewhere inside himself, he knows it's time to let it go.

 

He's at Mark's before he knows it. He walks up to the front door and takes just one more moment for himself, looking at the way the golden sunlight glitters across the morning dew. He takes a deep breath and tells himself that it's going to be okay. He can let this go and still be _him._ The magic isn't what defines him; the secrecy, the loneliness, even the music, isn't what defines him. He can share this thing and still be who he has always been. It doesn't define him.

 

He knocks on the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is gonna sound weird, but being in the YouTuber fandom is like lowkey the worst, because unlike celebrities or fictional worlds, YouTubers aren't unreachable, you know? Like they actively participate in communities and see fanworks and they are weirdly within reach, and yet completely not. And no reaction from them can ever feel like enough. They're there, but not in any sustainable sense for individuals within the community. And I wouldn't expect them to be. But it's just harder to be in a fandom where that possibility is there, but just a bit too far detached. You can touch the heart, but never hold it in your hands. Does anyone else ever feel like that? In a way, I'd rather have never seen the heart of something so magnificent at all.  
> Just some thoughts.


	6. Excavate My Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Understanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So guys, how do we feel about my vague, one word summaries? Do we love it, do we hate it? I don't wanna spoil stuff but it's also a liiiittle bit of a cop-out so...  
> Hit me up with your thoughts. Or don't. It's up to you.

Mark opens the door with a gentle smile. It's not the wide grin that normally splits his face, makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. That's the expression he usually sports when Ethan arrives. Ethan doesn't know if the change a good thing or a bad thing, but he's comforted by it all the same. 

 

“Hey, Ethan,” Mark says, voice soft. 

 

“Hey, Mark,” Ethan says back, just as quietly. 

 

There's something golden about Mark, the rumbling baritone of his voice and the rich brown of his eyes. Ethan thinks, briefly, about the sunlight streaming over the dew, the way it sparkled in the grass like a blanket of stars. There's safety in the golden light that emanates from Mark's very being. 

 

Ethan thinks maybe he's going to be okay. 

  
  


He follows Mark inside and they both sit on the couch, facing each other. There’s silence between the two of them, and Ethan is struck with the urge to call Blue to his side, but pushes the feeling down. He hasn’t called Blue since the catastrophe with Mark, which is uncommon for him, since he usually nestles with her whenever he’s home. 

 

Something about calling her felt wrong, after Mark saw him use his magic. He hasn’t used his magic at all recently, even though he longs to feel the glitter of light in his veins again. He didn’t realize how much he relied on it, not as a tool, but as a thing of beauty to stare into when the rest of the world lost its luster. 

 

“So,” Mark says, breaking him out of his reverie. “You have magic.” 

 

It's not a question, but Ethan nods, staring at his own fiddling fingers.    
  


“Where does it come from?” Mark sounds so calm, more curious than anything, and Ethan listens for the accusation, the disgust, even the shock in his tone, but finds nothing. 

 

“I… I don’t know how I got it. It just kinda… showed up one day,” Ethan says, twisting his fingers together until the joints ache. Nervousness squirms in his chest, but it’s not as overwhelming as he thought it would be. At least he’s not crying anymore. 

 

“No, I mean, um… You get your power  _ from  _ somewhere, right? Something triggers it. Like, what gives you that energy, y’know?” 

 

Ethan looks up at Mark, cocking his head to the side. It’s a very specific question, one that seems too accurate to be uninformed. Why wouldn’t Mark just assume that Ethan is the source of his own power? How does he know that Ethan gets it from somewhere else? 

 

Ethan swallows, and his throat burns as it works against itself. “Mu… uh, music…?” 

 

“You get it from music?” Mark asks, for the very first time looking surprised. When Ethan nods, Mark’s mouth curves into a small smile, his eyes going soft. “That’s so cute.” 

 

Ethan feels a flush crawl up his neck. He doesn’t know what he expected Mark to think of his powers, but ‘cute’ wasn’t the first word that came to mind. 

 

“Oh, oh!” Mark exclaims, turning more fully towards Ethan. “Can you show me? Do you need some music? Have you learned to manifest it on your own yet? Oh, can you manifest outside of your body yet? Without keeping contact with your skin?” Mark didn’t seem to be looking directly at him anymore, rambling on and gesturing excitedly. “You must cause I saw that cat thing. Dog? Whatever, doesn’t matter. So you must have had your powers for at least a little while, right? They’re not totally new?” 

 

Ethan pulls his arms close to himself, leaning away from Mark’s barrage. Mark knows a little too much. He couldn’t… he wouldn’t have watched Ethan, right? Ethan was so careful. Maybe not careful enough. How long has Mark known about him? Is that why he seems to be taking all of this in stride? 

 

“So, can you show me?” Mark asks again, a welcoming smile on his face. 

 

“I… uh, I don’t - you know, um, this has been really great,” Ethan stutters, standing. “But I think it’s time for me to go.” He takes a step forward and Mark stands as well. 

 

“Wait! Wait, I didn’t mean to, like, freak you out or anything,” Mark quickly placates, arms hovering at his sides. “You don’t have to show me.” 

 

“Okay, thanks, but I, uh -” Ethan takes another step forward, avoiding Mark’s gaze. “I really think I should leave.” 

 

“Wait, I -” Mark touches his arm, not grabbing him, not forcing him to stay, just a gentle touch that still makes Ethan jump. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I just… Can I just show you something?” Mark’s voice is hesitant now, and, if Ethan didn’t know better, he might even call it reverent. “Then you can leave. I promise.” 

 

Ethan chews on his lip, rubbing his fingertips over his own knuckles again and again, but, finally, he nods. 

 

Mark's face splits into his trademark grin and he glances around, focusing for a split second more on the window. “C’mon, let's go upstairs.” 

 

Ethan doesn't know if he likes the direction this is taking, but he follows Mark anyway. They step into Mark’s bedroom and Mark doesn't turn the light on, strides over to his window and pulls the curtains shut so that the room is basked in deep purples and blues. Ethan’s skin starts to crawl, a sensation like his bones shifting beneath his flesh making his fingers twitch at his sides. 

 

“Gonna show me your dead bodies?” Ethan jokes, his voice shaking just a bit too much to pass as amused. 

 

Mark laughs but doesn't give any more answer than that, coming to stand in front of Ethan. 

 

Ethan grips his own forearm tight enough to ache so that he doesn't back away. Maybe he was spot-on about the bodies. Maybe Mark knows about his magic because he's actually some magic hunter who kills people with powers. Maybe this was all just a ploy to capture him and now Mark’s going to murder him or lock him up or hand him over to scientists who will prod and poke at him until there's nothing left. 

 

But Mark wouldn't do that. Ethan knows Mark. They're friends. Even if they haven't known each other since childhood like some other people, Ethan still knows the type of person that Mark is. Mark wouldn't hurt him. Ethan knows that. 

 

So when Mark says, “Watch this,” Ethan lets his guard down, just this once, and listens. 

 

Mark holds his hand out, palm up, and starts humming. The center of his hand starts to glow, and a thin thread of glowing pink rises from his palm, swaying gently in an unfelt breeze, twisting towards the ceiling as Ethan watches in rapture. 

 

“You have magic, too…” he breathes, not looking away from the delicate wisp of vibrant color. 

 

“Yeah,” Mark says happily, and Ethan feels a sudden, overwhelming rush of relief fill his body at the idea that finally, finally, he’s not alone. His secret isn’t his anymore, but that doesn’t matter. It’s a shared secret, the way secrets are meant to be, and this feels right, more right than hoarding his abilities for himself, more right than the safety of secrecy, more right than even taking comfort from the manufactured presence of Blue. He has someone on his side, someone who understands everything that’s happening to him, and that is better than he ever could have imagined. 

 

The two of them stare at it in silence for a while, until something occurs to Ethan. 

 

“It’s fucking pink,” he deadpans, finally tearing his eyes away from the glowing sight before him and focusing on Mark’s face. 

 

“Yeah, so?” Mark retorts indignantly, putting his free hand on his hip. 

 

“Just… interesting, is all,” Ethan says, a giggle bubbling from his lips. 

 

“Pink is a very manly color!” Mark defends, a smile playing at his lips.    
  


“Okay, okay,” Ethan acquiesces, holding his hands up. “Oh, do you get yours from music, too?” he asks, finally processing the humming of Mark’s voice. 

 

Mark lets his hand fall, a sheepish expression coming over his face. His other hand rubs at the back of his neck. “Actually, and don’t laugh at me…” Ethan raises an eyebrow but remains silent, looking at Mark expectantly. “It comes from my voice.” 

 

Ethan does laugh at him, but quells the sound at Mark’s exaggerated pout. “You fucking self-centered prick!” Ethan gasps, pressing a hand to his sternum. 

 

“It's not my fault!” Mark screeches. Then, he adds, with an air of put-on elegance, “I was just naturally blessed with a voice of the gods.” 

 

Ethan snorts. “So, just to reiterate, you get your bright pink magic from being a chatterbox.” 

 

“Don't be jealous, Ethan,” Mark says haughtily, raising his arm so his hand is gracefully poised at his shoulder. “Besides, it matches my aesthetic.” 

 

“Well,” Ethan says, his face splitting into a grin, “I can't deny that.” 

 

“There's an insult in there, somewhere.” 

 

And Ethan realizes that Mark’s glow isn’t golden, after all. It’s pink. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we are nearing the end of my pre-written stuff (I had a fair amount of this written before I started posting it), so updates might be fewer and far between. And I know what you're thinking: Dira, you were never consistent with your updates. Why would we ever expect that from you?  
> To that I say, touche, my friend, touche. Just kidding, there's like three people reading this anyway, and one of those people is me.  
> Anyway, I'm also probably going to be writing slower in general, because the place I wrote the most was school and that's over for me now sooo... But I'm not leaving this fic just yet, so stay tuned for sporadic and infrequent updates!  
> In all seriousness, thank you all so much for reading. It means a lot to me.


	7. If I Could Read The World My Notebook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? An update? Who is she?

“So, how did you discover your powers?” Ethan asks later, while they're sitting at the table eating takeout straight from the containers. 

 

Mark looks up at him around the fork in his mouth, making an unintelligible sound as he chews. “You're gonna laugh at me,” he says after swallowing. 

 

“I already laughed at you,” Ethan points out. 

 

“You're going to laugh at me again,” Mark amends. 

 

“Mark,” Ethan says sincerely, making eye contact with the man across from him. “I'm already laughing, and nothing you can say is going to change that.” 

 

“That's fair,” Mark says, taking another bite of his food and chewing thoughtfully. He takes a swig of water before speaking, absently flipping his fork as his gaze trails around the room. “I was filming a video, and I just started thinking about how I was just there alone in my room talking to a camera, but I had this ability to reach all these thousands of people just by speaking.” His eyes fall to the table, and his hand stills. “It was the realization that I was communicating with so many people, that I had this crazy sort of power that could put ideas into other people's heads just by using my voice, and how my voice is just, like, vibrations in the air that I make with my throat.” Mark glances at Ethan for a split second before looking back down at the table. “I dunno, I guess it sounds kinda dumb, but I just… I  _ felt  _ something, you know? I felt like I was influencing the world in some way and you don't - or, I don't always feel like that? Which sounds even stupider because obviously I'm ‘Markiplier,’ y’know?” With his free hand Mark mimics quotation marks around his username. “Anyway, I just started kinda, um, getting into my own head, I guess? And thinking about all that stuff, and then my hands started to glow.” 

 

There's a distant quality to Mark’s expression. There's no sadness in his eyes, but for a second his gaze is… empty. 

 

But then he jerks his head up to look at Ethan, and he's back to his normal, exuberant self. “So that's my story,” he says with a laugh. “Now you have to tell me yours.” 

 

A question is on the tip of Ethan’s tongue, a soft whisper of worry, but the moment passes before he can speak and a new question hovers in the air, waiting for his answer. He wants to tell Mark he understands, that his story isn't stupid, but instead he says, “I was just laying in bed listening to music.” 

 

Mark’s face falls into a pout. “That’s boring!” He exclaims around a mouthful of food. “I told you my whole life story, and all you have to say is that you listened to music?” 

 

Ethan shrugs. “I mean, I guess it was kinda the same thing you went through. I was just kind of, um, feeling that sound energy. But unlike you, I wasn’t just focused on how amazing I was.” 

 

“Aw, you think I’m amazing?” Mark asks sweetly, tilting his head. 

 

Ethan snorts into his drink. 

  
  


“How old were you when you got your powers?” Mark asks as they get up to throw their containers away. 

 

“Seventeen. How old were you?” 

 

“God, why am I the butt of all of these jokes?” Mark mutters, putting a hand on his hips. “Twenty-four.” 

 

Ethan puts a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “Ah, to be young, right, Mark?” 

 

“Oh, fuck off.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you know how I said I ran out of pre-written stuff? Well I also ran out of pre-planned chapter titles, so we'll see how this goes lol


	8. And These Thoughts In It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might update weekly? Maybe?

Ethan likes to think that they became closer after that. Although their behavior with each other doesn't really change, Ethan feels different and, if he's not just deceiving himself, there's even something of a deeper quality to their exchanges. It's not much, but sometimes their eyes meet and Mark smiles at him, a secret smile that Ethan knows is only for him, or Mark will put his hand over Ethan's when the younger man is getting particularly frustrated over an editing issue or feeling especially exhausted. It's little things, moments of kindness that he can finally let himself appreciate, that make Ethan feel like he's finally, finally found his place. 

 

Ethan has even started to reach out to Mark on his own. The two of them have been texting back and forth, whereas before Ethan hadn't wanted to overstep his boundaries. Ethan has also been staying longer at Mark's house, even when everyone else leaves, and the two of them occasionally eat dinner together. 

 

After another night of mooching off of Mark's food, Ethan finally builds up the nerve to invite Mark over, and now he's frantically trying to finish up the meal before Mark walks through the door. 

 

Ethan is chopping up the peppers when he hears the doorbell ring. He curses under his breath as he rinses his hands off, nabbing a dish towel to dry his hands as he scampers to the door. “You're early,” Ethan says a little breathlessly, opening the door and throwing the dish rag over his shoulder. 

 

Mark raises an eyebrow. “Actually, I'm late. Did you hit your head or something?” 

 

“You're hilarious,” Ethan deadpans, spinning on his heel and heading back to his kitchen. 

 

“You didn't answer the question,” Mark singsongs over the click of the door closing. 

 

“I'm still getting dinner ready, so you can just watch TV or something,” Ethan calls over his shoulder, returning to the peppers. 

 

“I can help!” Mark pipes up, appearing on the other side of the counter. 

 

“I can do it myself, Mark,” Ethan says without looking up, a playful lilt to his voice. 

 

There's a beat of silence before Mark says, “Hey, Ethan?” 

 

“Yes, Mark?” 

 

“Remember that time you tried to cook a meat stew, went out and bought a bunch of fish, and didn't realize until after you had already finished making the entire meal that you were following the wrong directions?” 

 

Ethan stops chopping. “I do,” he says slowly, fighting the smile tugging at his lips. 

 

“Let me help,” Mark finishes, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. 

 

Ethan considers his options (although he's already made his decision), and eventually gestures towards the pack of noodles laying forlornly on the counter. “You can cook the noodles.” 

 

He thinks he hears a soft hiss of ‘yes!’ under Mark’s breath. 

  
  


“You know,” Ethan says as he finishes up with the peppers, sweeping them all to one side of the cutting board, “you're not exactly a master chef either.” 

 

Mark turns from where he's prodding at the noodles, a hand on his hip. “Chefiplier only burned down one house. One! And it didn't even burn; it was a super quick explosion.” 

 

“That's not better,” Ethan says, pouring oil into a pan and beginning to heat it up on the other burner of the stove. He scrapes the peppers in as well, setting a timer on the oven as he speaks again. “Could you watch the peppers for me? Just stir them around occasionally.” 

 

“Sure,” Mark replies, poking at the peppers like he's never seen one before. 

 

Ethan is rinsing the scallions and starting to chop them up when he hears Mark begin to sing. It starts out as the hum of an almost familiar tune, but quickly evolves into actual words. Ethan doesn't make any indication just yet that he's heard Mark’s song, instead letting a quiet sense of pride swell inside of him at the knowledge that Mark is comfortable enough to show a rare bit of vulnerability. 

 

When Ethan finishes his own task, he silently turns around, greeted by the sight of thick curls of pink magic tending to the noodles while Mark fumbles with the peppers. Ethan brings the cutting board, laden with scallions, over to the stove, peering at the diligent stirring of the noodles by Mark’s disembodied powers. The pink shapes don't seem to be attached to Mark, fading into nothingness where the base would be, but Ethan does notice a gentle glow under Mark’s short sleeves, right upon his bicep. 

 

“You're coming for my brand,” Ethan comments as he gestures Mark aside, sweeping the scallions into the pan alongside the peppers. 

 

“Bitch, you came for  _ my  _ brand. Crankgameplays? I think you mean, Markiplier 3.0.” 

 

“Who’s Markiplier 2.0?” Ethan asks as he stirs his mixture, watching Mark do the same for the noodles, this time by hand. 

 

“Sean. Obviously.” 

 

Ethan rolls his eyes. “Well if we're including other YouTubers, I think we can safely say that we  _ all  _ came for Felix’s brand.” 

 

“That's fair,” Mark agrees, leaning back over the vegetables as Ethan goes to retrieve and add the carrots he chopped up earlier. “Is there anything else we need to add?” 

 

“Some of this,” Ethan says, throwing in some greens, “and all of this.” He pours in the rather small bowl of sauce he prepared earlier. “Just watch those while I wash the dishes, okay?” 

 

“I can do it,” Mark interrupts, gesturing to the sink. 

 

Ethan shrugs. “Alright.” He stirs the vegetables, expecting Mark to head to the sink, but Mark is still tending to the noodles and has started singing again. 

 

Ethan listens to the tune without commenting, figuring that he'll just wash the dishes while the veggies cook, but the itch of familiarity begins forming in the back of his mind. He cocks his head to the side, listening a little more closely. 

 

“Seven A.M. the usual morning lineup. Start on the chores and and sweep till the floor’s all clean. Polish and wax, do laundry and mop and shine up. Sweep again and by then it's like 7:15.” 

 

“Are you singing ‘Rapunzel’?” Ethan asks, turning to Mark. 

 

“First of all, it's ‘Tangled’. Second of all, yes.” Mark looks up at Ethan’s incredulous expression and grins. “What? It helps me do chores!” 

 

Ethan turns around, glimpsing Mark’s magic reflecting off the silver of the sink and noticing the faint clatter of the dishes being washed. “You use your magic to do chores?” 

 

Mark stops and looks at Ethan, brows furrowing. “Well… yeah. What do you use it for?” 

 

Ethan looks at his hands, reaching back into his mind, sifting through each memory of magic to look for its purpose. He's never really thought of it as a tool. He was alone with it for so long that he regarded it with a kind of reverence. It felt like something bestowed upon him, something that was a gifted to him alone, and some part of him was afraid that if he abused his abilities they would be taken back by whatever had chosen him in the first place. 

 

This power had never truly felt like his own. It didn't come from him; that much he knew. It was something the music gave him. He needed that push, that base, to use magic. And he knew that without the gift of endless melodies, he wouldn't be able to bring forth what he had been given. 

 

There was  _ one  _ thing he used it for, though. One selfish wish that he granted himself. 

 

Ethan hums an old, familiar tune, and beneath the thick fabric of his sweater, right above his heart, his skin begins to glow. 

 

At his feet, Blue materializes. Ethan holds out his arms and Blue leaps into his embrace, snuggling up under his chin. “Companionship,” Ethan finally says, like light is spilling from his lips rather than his heart. 

 

Something in Mark’s eyes goes soft and sad. “I'm sorry, Ethan. I never wanted you to be alone.” 

 

Ethan lets Blue leap back to the ground. “I wasn't,” Ethan says, watching the creature scamper through the kitchen. “I had Blue.” He looks up at Mark. “And honestly, I had you guys, too. You were always so friendly and welcoming; I was just so scared of messing up that I couldn't accept that.” 

 

The corner of Mark's mouth twitches into a smile, although there's still a hint of pain in his eyes. “You don't have to be scared of messing up. Not around me, anyway.” 

 

“I know,” Ethan replies, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Blue dissolve like mist in the sun. “I've just looked up to you for so long, y’know? I had this built up image of you in my head that I just couldn't let down.” Ethan’s smile widens, though he tries to suppress it. “But now I see you're just as dumb as the rest of us.” 

 

“Hey!” Mark protests, just as the oven timer goes off. 

 

“Saved by the bell,” Ethan says brightly, ending the timer and turning off the heat. He begins scooping the mixture into two bowls,while Mark drains the noodles. After a bit of clashing and clanging they have two steaming meals sitting on the counter, and the dishes are drying on the dish rack. Ethan dusts his hands off, turning to Mark. “A job well done, if I do say so myself.” 

 

“Yeah, that's because I helped you,” Mark responds. 

 

“It is not!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do y'all feel about the dialogue? It's pretty easy to write and I think it helps develop the characters and their relationships, but I find it hard to be introspective and poetic and stuff while maintaining a fluid, comprehensible exchange between the characters. Does it matter? Does anyone care? I mean this fic will probably be a mixture of both, but I was just wondering if anyone had any strong preferences.


	9. Would They Judge Me Or Love Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something Strange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said I would update weekly? Well... almost? Also this chapter is pretty short - I just started working so I've been super busy this week. Anyway, hope everyone enjoys!

“Hey, Mark?” Ethan asks once they've both settled down and started to eat. Mark hums in acknowledgement, looking up. “Why do you think we have these powers?” 

Mark seems to go still, not in the lifeless way a statue is stagnant, but like he's not altogether there. His eyes lock with Ethan’s, an endless brown that is just as empty as Mark’s answer. 

Ethan sees the moment Mark returns to himself, an invisible light that manifests in his eyes between one blink and the next. “You don't know,” Mark says, a statement of fact. 

“Know what?” 

Mark’s brows draw together. “You don't even know he's real, do you?” 

Ethan leans forward. “Who?” 

Mark continues like he didn't hear Ethan speak. “You've never had something… weird happen to you?” 

Ethan can't stop the incredulous expression that creeps on to his face. “What do you mean ‘weird’? Of course I've had weird things happen to me - I fucking glow when I sing!” 

“No, no,” Mark insists, and Ethan feels apprehension ripple under his skin, radiating out from his aching heart. “Like, wrong weird. Like, something felt wrong inside of you.” Mark’s gaze drifts as he goes silent, then refocuses on Ethan when he speaks again. “This...magic, has always felt right, y’know? It feels natural. But sometimes… there's something… else.” 

“Like what?” 

Mark seems to finally focus on Ethan, looking at him rather than through him. “I don't…” His expression twists, something like pain masking his features. Ethan thinks he sees something flicker in Mark’s eyes, not like a light turning on, but like a candle being blown out, a flare of darkness, but it vanishes just as quickly as it appeared. “If it hasn't happened yet, maybe I just… shouldn't.” 

“Shouldn't what?” Ethan prompts, the crawling of his skin making his words come out sharper than he intended. 

“Tell you.” 

Ethan twitches. “You can't be serious. Mark, you have to tell me what you're talking about! Am I in danger? Is something coming for us?” 

Mark shakes his head. “It's not coming. If you're the same as I am, it's already here.” 

Ethan slams his hand on the table. “Mark! What the fuck does that mean?! Stop being vague and answer my goddamn questions!” 

“What if you're safe because you don't know? What if telling you puts you in danger?” Mark looks frantic, his eyes darting around the room, but his body doesn't move. Then he jerks his head to the side, and Ethan has a sudden, vivid image of Mark’s neck being broken. In front of him, Mark’s neck twists, dragging his head in an almost snake-like pattern. Then he goes still again, eyes widening. He whips his head around to look at Ethan, and there’s a wild kind of light playing in his gaze. “He’s here.” All at once the light disappears again, and Mark’s eyes are empty. “I have to go,” he says suddenly, jolting to his feet and striding stiffly out the door. 

Ethan stares at the door, unable to formulate words until he hears the rumble of Mark’s car driving away. After sitting in silence for another handful of minutes, Ethan finally manages to say, “you could've at least offered to wash the dishes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can we just talk about how shook I was when Ethan posted that "My Fantasy Fanfic" vid? At that time I was already like a good 6000 words deep in this story and I saw the title and I was like !!! ME!!!  
> Also, Mark's "3 Weird Games #2" when he could control the world with his voice in that first game?? I was SHOOK


	10. For What I've Written

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something strange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had alot of fun writing this chapter, but I also don't love how it turned out? If that makes sense? I dunno, but I hope you guys enjoy it anyway! Also this chapter is much longer than the last one, so hopefully that makes up for the lateness :)

When Ethan wakes up the next morning, he feels… wrong. 

 

He feels like he's moving around inside his own skin, one step ahead of the cage of his body. He doesn't feel like he belongs here. He twists and stretches, pulls at his neck and hands, but something about them feels wrong, too fluid and soft. For a long time, he sits in bed, flexing his fingers and waiting to feel the gritted grind of dust and sand between his joints. In a phantom mimicry of sound, like a song stuck in his head, he hears a faint whirring, and the click of metal against metal. 

 

But none of that's real. He's here, in this body, on the softness of his bed, and everything feels wrong, worming beneath his skin and pulling at his insides, twisting his organs together until he wants to tear them out. 

 

Instead he rubs his palms together, scratches at his arms, until suddenly he tastes rust - no, it's blood - in the back of his throat. He must have bitten his tongue, but he doesn't feel any pain. 

 

Still, he drags himself from his bed to go to his bathroom, twitching, twisting, inside his own skin. 

 

He flips on the light and looks into the mirror. Staring back at him is his own reflection, with two shining black eyes. 

 

A deep, primal fear fills Ethan’s senses. His mind screams at him to run and, for once, he obeys, scrambling out of the room and slamming the door shut. He runs back to his room, slams that door shut too, and claws at his hands, his sides, his hair and his face, trying to find out what's wrong with him. He feels the same, nothing out of the ordinary, but panic still blares in his brain. 

 

He wants to tear his skin away and make sure he's still human underneath. He wants to gouge out his eyes and cut out the infection before it spreads. He wants to pull himself apart to find out what's wrong. But instead he grabs his phone, his shaking hands struggling to unlock it. 

 

In the brief moment of blackness in the screen, he sees his reflection again, the empty void of his eyes, and he feels the air leave his lungs. He gasps, loud and dry, calling the only person he knows can help him. 

 

As soon as he hears the the click of connected receivers, Ethan starts to speak. “Mark! Mark, help, I don't what's going on - my eyes -” And then all his panic and fear, every emotion bubbling to the surface of his body, is suddenly sucked away. It's yanked from him as quickly as a flame extinguished by water, and suddenly he feels nothing. 

 

He pushes against it, fighting the flat steel of it, and somehow he creates a small pocket for himself, lined in the cold sensation of absence. He notes this small pocket where he's curled himself up dimly, feels the panic and fear as the lightest of whispers on his skin. His emotions are distant, suffocated under the metal that fills his body, but he's aware of them, now. 

 

He watches himself bring the phone to his face, torn between the nestled truth in his chest and the vacuous pull of emptiness that has stolen his body. He is both of them, he is neither, he's being torn apart by the strange congruity of it. It's a perpendicular intersection, he's crucified in the juxtaposition, and it's pulling him apart. 

 

“Ethan?” he hears Mark ask. 

 

His own voice replies, but the sound is warped and wobbling, echoing within itself, like two faulty speakers reciting something at almost the same time. “It seems that your friend is having something of a… crisis.” 

 

“Where are you? Who is this?” Mark booms from the phone. “If you lay one fucking hand on him I swear to god I’ll -” 

 

“Mark,” Ethan’s body drawls. “We're right where you left us.” 

 

“Ok, alright.” From the phone comes a faint rustling sound, accompanied by the heavy rhythm of Mark’s breathing. “You don't have to do this,” Mark says breathlessly. “Just let Ethan go. Let me talk to him.” 

 

Ethan watches the room spin as his body rolls its eyes. “I'm not going to hurt him,” his body says. “But if you're so worried about it… well, better come quick.” 

 

“What do y-” 

 

But Ethan’s hands have already hung up. 

 

Ethan tries to cling to himself, but time blurs as he waits for Mark. The seconds stretch and bleed while he sits there, staring at the darkened reflection in his phone. He doesn't think. He doesn't feel. He just sits there and waits, empty and quiet inside for the the first time in his life. 

 

He doesn't know how long it is until Mark knocks on the door, but when he hears the sound his body immediately rises to its feet, approaching the doorway and pulling the door open. Mark stands on the other side, harried and breathless, Ethan notes absently. 

 

Ethan's body turns around and heads back inside, going toward the couch. He hears Mark following behind him, but the sound seems muffled and unimportant, as if it is reaching him through thick layers of insulation. 

 

“Let him go,” Mark says from behind him, low and steady. 

 

Ethan jolts, falling forward and just barely catching himself on the back of the couch. The terrible screech of metal on metal fills his head, fills his body, vibrating through his organs and scraping across his bones, tearing dry and ragged from his skin as whatever was inside him rips itself away. 

 

Emotion crashes back upon him like a wave, crushing him beneath the force of it as panic spreads wildfire-fast through his nerves. He collapses to his knees, turning to press his back against the couch, heaving as he tries to regain control of himself. 

 

Like an epiphany, like a messiah, he sees Mark in front of him, saying something Ethan can't bring himself to understand. 

 

Ethan claws at his own skin, raking his nails over his chest, his neck, wishing he could feel the sting of it. “What - what's going on?!” he chokes out, his vision beginning to go watery at the edges. “What's happening to me?!” 

 

And then he's gone again. In the blink of an eye, a wall slams down inside of him, cutting away the endless cacophony that fills his soul and leaving him breathless and silent. “You’re all so… loud,” his own voice says, returning to the mechanical echo of before. His body stands up, holding Mark’s gaze. 

 

“Ethan?” Mark asks, the name shaken by the faintest of tremors. 

 

“He’s not here right now,” Ethan’s body replies. Ethan stares out of lifeless eyes, feels his lips move and his vocal cords vibrate, and inside, he feels nothing. He feels tired, suddenly, leaden with the burden of all that he’s become, and he stops pushing against the barrier around him, stops fighting the relentless tug of surrender, and he falls deeper into the hollow space carved out inside of him. He sinks back into his body, becomes one with his senses once again, and yet still, he feels nothing. 

 

“Please,” Mark says, voice thick. “What do you want? Why are you here?” 

 

Ethan raises an eyebrow. There’s no reason to leave the question unanswered, but when he looks inside himself he finds that the idea of motivation, of desire, seems foreign. There’s a base instinct to survive, to take and take if that’s what he needs to do to have a body, a life, but beyond that he doesn’t have an intention. “Because I can be,” he answers at last, rubbing his thumb across his fingertips, cataloging the feedback loop of sensation. “He let me in.” His gaze falls to his hand, then rises back up to meet Mark’s eyes. “And I couldn’t reject such a lovely invitation.” 

 

“What do you mean ‘he let you in’?” 

 

“Oh, Mark,” Ethan drawls, inspecting his nails. “You really don’t understand, do you?” 

 

Mark tenses up, holding himself still, but Ethan notices the almost imperceptible tilt of his head that shows he’s listening. 

 

“You must realize that your abilities come with a price. Something that powerful… well, it has to be balanced. An equal and opposite reaction, if you will. So, when your energy is… elsewhere, we become stronger.” He looks up at Mark again. “It’s you who lets us in. Lets us grow. You open the door. We just walk through it.” 

 

Suddenly, Mark’s eyes go wide. He grabs Ethan’s wrist in a bruising grip and yanks him into Ethan’s recording room. 

 

“What are you doing?” Ethan questions, though he doesn’t bother fighting Mark’s actions. 

 

“I’ve got a plan.” 

 

Before Ethan can react Mark has pulled Ethan’s headphones, wire and all, from the computer and thrown Ethan to the ground, shoving the headphones over his ears. Ethan tries to get up, choking air knocked from his lungs, but Mark pushes him back to the floor, forcing his arms to his sides and straddling his waist to hold him down. 

 

“Get off,” Ethan grits out. He tries to push Mark away, but the other man is too heavy. Fear begins to trickle into his brain, distant and muted, and Ethan is drawn toward it, feels himself beginning to detach from the shell of his body, clawing himself toward the one thing he can almost remember feeling. 

 

Mark ignores his attempts at escape, plugging the headphones into his own phone. 

 

Music begins to trickle into Ethan’s ears. Something about it speaks of nostalgia, the memory of something good, laughter that he can’t quite remember. Ethan tries to draw power from it, but it’s not enough. He stretches toward the sound, tries to grasp the mist of memory in his hand, but he’s blocked by the same thing that keeps his fear from being potent, the same thing that drained his panic away as easily as pulling the plug in a bathtub. 

 

He hears his body laugh, the sound like gears fitting into each other, metal scraping metal, an engine whirring. The laughter cuts off abruptly, unnaturally, a mere mimicry of truth. When he speaks, his voice folds over itself, layers of sound that echo and bounce around the room. “You think that’s going to drive me out?” 

 

Mark’s jaw clenches. “Sorry, Ethan. This might hurt a bit.” With that, Mark dials up the volume on his phone. 

 

Sound floods Ethan’s brain, filling every part of him with deafening noise. He feels it shaking under his skin, scratching at his bones, expanding inside of him until there’s no space for anything else. It hurts, a growing pressure in his skull and in his chest, and he feels the emptiness inside him being forcibly ripped away, like a part of himself being pulled from his body, like a layer of his skin being flayed from his bones. 

 

He’s consumed by the pain, by the sound, by the overwhelming fullness of being alive again. His vision saturates and brightens until he can only see white. He screams. 

 

And then he wakes up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the weird ending. I really needed to wrap this up chapter and, for now, this is the best way to do it. I promise that there will be more explanation in the next chapter. Until then, peace!


	11. Tryna Get Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explanation?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really excited about where this fic is going. Most of my writing is very character-centric, so either a character study type of thing or relationship based, so exploring something with a linear, pivotal plot is really different for me. That being said, although this isn't my usual fare, I think it's going well so far, and this story wouldn't be here without the positive feedback I've gotten from you guys. Everyone has been super nice and supportive and as someone who wasn't all that active in this particular fandom, it's so nice to feel so welcomed and appreciated. So I just wanted to say thank you to anyone that's been reading this; it means alot and your feedback, active or passive, really motivates me.   
> Okay, enough mushy stuff - on to the fic! I hope you all enjoy!

That’s what it feels like, anyway. He crashes back into his body like a meteor hitting earth, shaking him to his core. He jolts forward, a gasp on his lips, and Mark backs away a fraction, just enough for Ethan to free his arms and sit up. 

 

“What happened to me?! What's going on?” Ethan twists his head, eyes darting around the room. He feels his heart thrash in his chest, the rush of fear and blood that pounds in his head. It's a panic so overwhelming that he can barely focus on anything else, can barely force words out of his mouth. “I don't understand - I couldn't feel anything - I don't know - something’s wrong -” 

 

His fragmented gibberish is halted by Mark’s hands on his shoulders, warm and firm and providing just enough pressure to keep him from flying apart. 

 

“Mark,” he chokes out around the lump in his throat. His eyes burn as he wraps his arms around his friend, clinging to him like the world is about to end. “Mark, Mark, something was here. It was inside me. I don't - I don't know what's happening…” He presses his face into Mark’s chest. 

 

Mark closes his arms around Ethan, resting his chin on his head, and for some reason, after all of it is over, Ethan finally starts to cry. He lets out painful, ugly sobs, heaving as the adrenaline drains from his system and leaves him in the aftermath of terror, this time with no direction, no instinctual drive toward freedom, just the visceral memory of being trapped inside his own head. 

 

Mark doesn't move away, just presses Ethan a little closer and lets him cry into his arms. Mark murmurs to Ethan quietly, soothing words that the younger man only begins to hear after his tears have started to dry. “You're okay,” Mark says, rubbing his hand over Ethan’s back. “I'm here. You're safe. I won't let anything happen to you. You're going to be fine. It's okay. It's alright. Just let it all out. You're okay.” 

 

Ethan sniffles, wiping at his eyes and trying to compose himself. “What… what happened to me?” 

 

Mark pulls away slightly, just enough for them to look at each other. “Exactly what I said might happen. I told you that you might have your own, well, entity, and you do.” 

 

Ethan tilts his head. “You didn't tell me that.” 

 

Mark furrows his brows. “Yes I did. Yesterday.” 

 

“No. Yesterday I asked you what you were talking about and you wouldn't give me a straight answer, and then you left,” Ethan insists, a coil of apprehension growing in his gut. 

 

“I didn't - I told you - oh shit.” Mark eyes widen a fraction, and his gaze drifts before coming back to Ethan. “I didn't say anything about Dark or weird demon possessions or anything like that?” 

 

Ethan rears back, as much as he's able, and shakes his head. “Wha - no! You didn't - demons?!” 

 

“Well, I don't know what he is,” Mark amends, looking unperturbed by their topic of choice. “But that was the first thing I came up with.” He pauses, chewing on the corner of his mouth. “Let's start at the beginning.” 

 

Mark takes a deep breath, exhales, and begins his story. 

 

“So, you know how Dark is one of my ‘egos?’” Mark asks while extricating himself from Ethan grasp. Ethan lets him, adjusting so that they can face each, both sitting cross legged. 

 

“Yeah…” Ethan says slowly, a sour taste seeping into the back of his mouth, like the warning of throwing up. 

 

“Well… he’s real.” 

 

At this point, Ethan was kind of expecting it, but the reality of having it spoken into the air still makes his stomach turn. He digs his nails into the palms of his hands. 

 

“And sometimes he… takes over.” Mark is strangely still, only his eyes moving, bouncing between Ethan and his surroundings. “He… Sometimes he makes me see things, or think things happen that aren't… real.” 

 

“He makes you hallucinate?” Ethan prompts. “Like, to scare you?” 

 

Mark shakes his head. “No, no. Um, you know how I’ve talked about Dark being all about manipulation?” Ethan nods. “Well, that’s what he tries to do. He wouldn’t make me see some, I don’t know, weird monster or something, because I would know that it wasn’t real. He makes me see things that are realistic enough that I think that they happened.” Mark shifts, finally, scratching at his arm. “Like yesterday, I thought I already had this conversation with you. I told you about Dark, about how you might have some similar entity trying to control you, and then you told me I was a liar, that I was delusional, and you told me to get out.” 

 

“But I didn’t do that,” Ethan insists, swallowing around the ache in his throat. 

 

“I know. Now,” Mark amends. “What do you remember?” 

 

Ethan chews on his lip, thinking back to their conversation. “You told me something was coming. Or that it was already here. And when I asked you about it you wouldn’t answer me. You kept saying you couldn’t tell me, that you thought it would put me in more danger. And then you got up and left.” 

 

Mark hums, gaze drifting across the floor. 

 

“Mark…?” Ethan asks, voice quiet. Mark looks up at him. Ethan reminds himself to swallow, his words brittle and cracked when he speaks again, disintegrating around the edges. “How do you know what's real?” 

 

“I don't.” 

 

Mark looks so strange like this. There's that emptiness in his gaze, the kind Ethan's seen before. Mark is usually so full of energy and life, the kind of person that seems to go on endlessly, as infinite and unknowable as the universe itself. But right now, Mark seems empty. Hollow. Made of nothing but the thin skin of a man and the echo of a voice. 

 

Ethan reaches out to him. He links their hands together, just to make sure that Mark’s still there. 

 

Mark’s face crumples to reveal not black emptiness, but the dark blue of sadness and the yellow shock of fear, a mix of colored emotion that spills from his face until Ethan thinks he might suffocate beneath it. “I don't know if anything’s real,” Mark whispers, navy dripping from his mouth. “I'm so afraid that he's going to take everything away from me, absolutely everything, and I won't even notice.” Bright yellow seeps into Mark’s eyes, staining his irises gold. “I could lose myself, everything that makes me  _ me _ .” The colors mix, and all of Mark is a sick green. “What if I already have?” 

 

Ethan tightens his grip on Mark’s hand. “This is real,” Ethan promises, and he sees the glitter of tears in Mark's eyes. Ethan waits until Mark squeezes his hand to continue. “Is there any way you can tell that something might be wrong? Or that he might be coming?” 

 

Mark sniffles and rubs at his eyes, still not letting go of Ethan's hand. “Uh, well, if it's something that he made me see I, uh…” He swallows thickly before continuing. “This is gonna sound weird, but I remember it in black and white. But I have to consciously reach back for that memory, if that makes sense. Like, if it's just in my mind I won't really notice unless I specifically try to recall it, because the actual moment doesn't happen in black and white, just the memory.” Ethan nods, encouraging Mark to go on. “I also… I think he comes to me when I feel angry? Or frustrated?” 

 

“Okay,” Ethan says, even though it doesn't feel like enough. 

 

Mark offers him a tired smile, but it only lasts for a moment. “We should talk about what happened to you.” 

 

Ethan nods. “But first, can we get off the floor?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you guys think I should add Darkiplier into the character tags? I want to tag all the stuff that applies to this fic, but I also don't want to be spoilery. Thoughts?   
> Thanks for reading!


	12. To Spirit That Enters the Body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reveal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is super short, but this felt like the best place to break it. Because it's so short I'll try to upload some time later this week, kind of a mid-week update, so stay tuned for that!

They end up on the couch, Ethan leaning into Mark's side. Their hands are still tangled together. They don't usually get this close to each other, but right now, Ethan needs it. He feels like he's shaking inside, a faint, sick trembling. 

 

“I couldn't feel anything,” Ethan says after a long while. “Emotionally. Like everything inside of me just disappeared.” 

 

Mark rubs his thumb over Ethan's knuckles. “Do you know who it was?” 

 

Ethan chews on his bottom lip, searching through his mind for an answer. Who could it be? What kind of creature would steal his body, only to use it as a lifeless puppet? If Mark can be controlled by Dark, what kind of entity would take root in Ethan? 

 

It hits him with a chilling certainty, the kind of sureness that comes when one sees an animal’s body and knows it is dead. The trembling inside of Ethan goes still as he speaks. “It’s Blank.” 

 

Beside him, he feels more than sees Mark nod. 

 

Ethan shifts, convincing himself that he’s still in control, and speaks again. “You… Did you make Dark before he became… real?” 

 

“Yeah,” Mark murmurs, his grip tightening on Ethan’s hand. 

 

Ethan stares forward, hand like vice around Mark’s. “Did we create them?” he asks. 

 

Mark is so still beside him, both of them like statues with beating hearts beneath their stone. “Or were they inside us the whole time?” Mark whispers back, like a prayer, like a curse, like a promise. 

 

Ethan turns to look at him. Mark is staring straight ahead, at the reflective black of the TV screen. “We're going to be okay,” Ethan says, not sure if Mark is listening. 

 

But then Mark turns and their eyes meet, and Ethan feels better. Not safe, not yet, but better. 

 

“I know,” Mark replies. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #confirmed  
> I know alot of people probably knew it was Blank, but here he is! I can't wait to explore his place in the story! See you next time!


	13. It's The Vessel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curiosity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is: the mid-week update! After this we'll be back to our normal schedule! Enjoy!

Mark doesn't leave that night. He sleeps on an air mattress on the floor next to Ethan’s bed, and Ethan listens to him breathe in the dark quiet of the room. Ethan stays awake for what feels like a long time after Mark has fallen asleep, the older man’s breaths deep and even. Eventually Ethan relinquishes his grip on wakefulness and sinks into the soft embrace of sleep as well, comforted by the sound of his friend nearby. 

  
  


Ethan doesn't wake up the next morning. Instead, in the early dawn, when the world is stained lavender and gold, his body arises and leaves him behind. It pads through his house, going from room to room and picking up trinkets, examining them, and placing them back in their original spots. It leaves some items untouched, things that Ethan might deem important: his phone, his computer. Instead, his body spends its time discovering the mundane: a pen, a photograph, a blanket. The process is slow and near silent. His body runs its fingers along the walls and the edges of furniture, stares out the windows for long minutes, and swivels its head around to take everything in, like an astronaut on a strange new planet. 

 

Ethan realizes, somewhat belatedly, as he stares through his own eyes as a passenger, that this is Blank. 

 

Any fear Ethan would have felt has been pushed out by the entity filling his body, and he is left in the quiet of his mind, the normal clutter and bustle of thought and emotion stolen away. In its place, he is left with a strange sense of peace. There's a wrongness to it, something not quite natural, but still, the gentle emptiness offers a soothing kind of escape from the hectic energy of his usual psyche. 

 

Ethan considers fighting Blank’s hold, but then he sees the sunrise, feels the way Blank is enraptured by the crimson sky and the thin line of glowing orange, like an ember rising from the black spires of the city. 

 

Ethan can allow Blank this. Ethan can give Blank this one, beautiful sight at the start of his existence. 

 

“Ethan?” 

 

The sound shatters the sunrise at Ethan’s fingertips, driving him back into his body in a shuddering, shivering tremble. Ethan shakes as he falls forward, catching himself on the window. He exhales, feeling autonomy return to his bones. He turns to Mark, who’s all tangled hair and rumpled clothes, a disarray that is in stark contrast to the intent look on the older man’s face. 

 

“Mark?” Ethan asks, and though his voice is rough and cracked, it doesn’t echo. 

 

“It's you, right?” Mark asks, hands hovering at his sides. 

 

Ethan’s throat clicks as he swallows. “Yeah.” 

 

“Why are you up?” Mark prompts, taking a step forward. 

 

Ethan resists the urge to take a step back. “What do you mean?” he responds, even though he knows the answer. 

 

“Are you  _ you  _ right now?” Mark takes another step forward, so they’re within arms reach of each other, and now Ethan does take a step back, the glass of the window pressing cold on his skin. 

 

Constriction crawls up Ethan’s body, passing through his chest and throat to pull at his jaw. He clenches his teeth together until they ache. “He…” The words come from him like deep-rooted stone pried from earth, his edges crumbling as he comes apart. “He just wanted to see the sunrise.” 

 

The shadows of Mark’s face darken. “He’s trying to figure you out, see where your weaknesses are. He wants to hurt you, Ethan. They all do.” 

 

“I don’t…” Ethan stares up at Mark’s looming figure, trying to silence the erratic rhythm starting to claw at his skin. “It didn’t… He doesn’t  _ feel  _ evil.” 

 

“I know what they’re like, Ethan. He’s trying to trick you.” 

 

Ethan shakes his head, face contorting as he searches for words that will articulate the realization that Blank wanted to see the sun rise and nothing else, that Blank was like a curious child in a brand new world. “I don’t… I don’t think he understands how to do that,” Ethan insists. He starts to run his hand through his hair but ends up yanking on the strands instead, trying to center himself. “He’s not like Dark.” 

 

Mark’s eyes narrow. 

 

For a moment, fear twitches in Ethan’s shoulders, but then Mark steps away, breathing deeply and rubbing at his face before speaking again. “Yes, he is,” Mark says, meeting Ethan’s eyes again. “You don’t know them like I do. You haven’t seen what I’ve seen.” Sadness melts across Mark’s face. “He’ll hurt you.” 

 

Ethan moves closer to Mark, carefully taking his friend’s hand in his own. “You don’t know that,” he whispers. 

 

“Yes, I do,” Mark whispers back. His eyes shine in the golden sunlight, glossy with tears. 

 

“What if they’re not all the same?” Ethan continues, keeping his voice soft and low. 

 

Mark squeezes his hand, voice cracking as he asks, “But what if they are? What if something happens to you and I can’t stop it?” 

 

“I told you that we were going to be okay,” Ethan murmurs, weaving their fingers together. “Do you trust me?” 

 

“Fuck, man,” Mark says with a watery laugh. “That’s a low blow.” 

 

Ethan just raises an eyebrow, holding Mark’s gaze. 

 

Mark sniffles, wiping at his eyes with his free hand. “Yeah, I trust you.” 

 

Ethan smiles. “Then believe me when I say I can do this. It’s not on you. If I need help, I’ll tell you. I promise. But I just think… I don’t think he’s evil, Mark. Not yet.” 

 

Mark doesn’t answer for a moment, but finally he speaks, his tone a combination of faith and resignation. “Okay, Ethan. I trust you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	14. Like I'm Not In It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An honest conversation and further explanation.   
> AKA shit gets deep?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know I said that we were returning to our normal update schedule, but I'm going to be on vacation for the next couple of days, so I decided to update early rather than late. Hopefully we'll return to our normal routine soon! I mean, I don't know if anyone really cares as long as I update semi-regularly, or cares in general, but personally I find it nice to hold myself to a schedule so I have concrete goals that I can set and accomplish. Anyway, that's not really important, just a little info dump (like this chapter).

“Call me if you need anything,” Mark says over his shoulder as Ethan pushes him out the door. “Even if it’s late! Or if you just  _ think _ something might be wrong! Or if anything weird happens!” 

 

Ethan rolls his eyes, ushering Mark through the doorway. “Yeah, yeah, I will.” 

 

Mark turns around, catching himself on the doorframe. “I’m serious! Even if it’s just a false alarm or you just want to talk or -” 

 

“Mark,” Ethan says, staring said man down until he falls silent. “I’ll be fine. I’ll call you if I need you. I promise.” 

 

Mark hesitates. “Are you sure? I can stay a little longer, if you want.” 

 

Ethan pries Mark’s hands off of the door, grabbing the handle once Mark lets go. “Go home. Go film some videos. I’ll be fine. Trust me.” 

 

Mark’s face twists, but eventually he sighs in defeat. “Okay. Just remember to call if you need anything!” 

 

“I will!” Ethan exclaims. “Now go home!” He swings the door shut, but not before catching Mark’s indulgent smile as he begins to turn away. 

 

Ethan runs a hand through his hair as he locks the door, leaning his forehead against the cool wood when he hears Mark’s car leave, exhaustion weighing heavy in his bones. 

 

Then he feels it rise up inside of him, reaching toward the outside world. It doesn't push him out like it did before. This time, it taps on his shoulder, prodding at a part of his mind he'd all but forgotten. “I can't,” Ethan whispers into the empty air.  _ You can _ , the thing inside him whispers back. 

 

Ethan raises his head and walks to the bathroom, frozen for a moment as he stares into the blackness of a tiny room, hand hovering over the light switch.  _ You can,  _ it says again. Ethan flicks the light switch on and looks into the mirror. 

 

His reflection stares back at him, one eye human and bright, and the other a light-swallowing black. 

 

“What do you want?” Ethan asks, gripping the bathroom counter so tightly that the edge bites into his palms. 

 

“Want…” His reflection echoes back at him, moving his body without his consent. The word pushes its way up out of him, presses his throat apart to make way for the inhuman click of machinery and the wavering warble of distortion. “I don’t  _ want. _ ” 

 

Ethan looks into the blackness of his own eye, trying to decipher meaning from the nothingness. “You must want something. You wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t.” 

 

His head tilts to the side, so quickly and unexpectedly that his neck makes a faint popping sound. “Do trees want? They push their way up from the soil and turn towards the sun. They keep trying to survive, even if they don’t  _ want  _ to. Why should I be any different?” 

 

Ethan straightens his head back up, grimacing at the pain in his shoulder. He shifts his hands so they’re laying flat on the countertop, leaning forward. “Are you trying to survive?” he asks in a voice that’s barely a whisper. 

 

“I think so,” his own body replies. “Something is telling me to keep living. Something wants me to keep going. It’s just not me.” 

 

Ethan places one hand against the glass. “But _ I  _ want to be alive,” he says. “I want to feel things. I need this body. You can’t be here.” 

 

A black tears oozes from his darkened eye, dripping thick and opaque along his cheek. Yet, somehow, Ethan knows that Blank isn’t truly feeling sadness. Like everything else about him, it’s a mere mimicry of human emotion. “I need to live,” Blank says through his body. 

 

“Why?” Ethan demands, pulling his hand away from the mirror. “Why do you need my body? Where do you go when you’re not here?” 

 

Another tear leaks from his inhuman eye, only falling a few centimeters before being caught by its own syrupy consistency. “It’s dark,” is all the answer that Ethan gets. 

 

“But you don't feel anything,” Ethan points out. “You don't care if it's dark, so why does it matter?” 

 

“Instinct isn't dictated by emotion. Besides, I only use this body when you're not in it.” 

 

Ethan actually reels back a bit, face contorting in confusion. “What do you mean ‘when I'm not in it?’ It's  _ my  _ body. I'm always in it!” 

 

His eyes shift, and Ethan watches the room slip across his vision before his gaze returns to the mirror. “Mortals are so… literal,” Blank drawls. “You're not always this...” Blank hums in thought. “Active.” 

 

A frown tugs at Ethan’s lips. “So you, I guess possess, me when I'm inactive?” 

 

His face smooths as Blank rises to the surface again. “You really can't put the pieces together, can you?” His tone isn't quite disdain, strangely. Instead, Blank sounds genuinely perplexed. “When have I appeared to you, Ethan? When have you felt my presence?” 

 

Ethan parses over the words, reaching back in his memory. “Well, in the morning the other day.” His eyes trail along the ceiling, wandering aimlessly as he thinks. “And then this morning after I woke up, and now, after Mark left.” He glances around the room, trying to fit the puzzle pieces of his experiences together. Suddenly, it hits him, apparent as anything. “You come when I wake up!” He looks into the mirror with excitement, staring at his inky black eye. He feels a slight push in his mind, a whisper of something he can't identify. “No, not just waking up! You come to me when I'm tired!” 

 

His body trembles with the murmur of ‘yes,’ a validation that seems to emanate from his very bones. 

 

“But why?” Ethan asks, unease swelling in his stomach like sickness. 

 

“Look at me,” the echo of his own voice says, drawing his eyes to the mirror. He feels Blank pushing forward, lurking beneath his skin. “I’m your mirror image, a reflection of all that you are. I’m the opposite of what you want to be and the warning of what you might become. When your powers desert you, I am the future that waits for you on the other side. So, naturally, when your powers are weakest, when they leave you to join a reality you haven’t entered, I am strongest. And so I appear to you, here.”  

 

Blank retreats for a moment to allow Ethan space to breathe, to think. But Ethan can barely process all of the information coming from his own lips. It doesn’t make sense, it’s so complicated and obtuse, and he can’t hear his own thoughts over the screech of rusty metal that has started in the back of his mind. He puts one hand over his ear, twisting his fingers in his hair. “I don’t… I don’t understand. I get my powers from music. What does that have to do with being tired?” 

 

“Music,” his reflection scoffs. “You don't really think that's all your magic is, do you?” 

 

Ethan tries to speak, but his body ignores his commands. 

 

“It's what the music gives to you,” Blank continues. 

 

Ethan wracks his brain for an answer, but again, nothing comes to him. 

 

“Energy,” Blank provides at last, like it's an obvious conclusion. “Music gives you a pure, sustainable kind of energy. That's what your powers are based in. Ergo, when your energy wanes, mine waxes.” 

 

Fear ripples under Ethan’s skin, radiating out from his heart. “And then what?” he croaks, sand and rust in his throat. 

 

Blank blinks serenely back at him, vacant and indifferent. “I guess we’ll find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this served to answer some questions about Blank's nature and character!   
> It's hard for me to tell if the story is rushed or not. I feel like I pack so much into every chapter that it becomes an endless barrage instead of a well-paced tale, but it's also very difficult for me to objectively judge something as elusive as that within my own writing. Also, I feel like as fanfiction readers, people might not be looking for something with slow burn and gradual pace and all that, since it is such a different medium than, say, a novel.   
> Any thoughts?   
> As always, thank you for reading and I will see you in the next update!


	15. In Fifty-Something Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even more conversation? Wild.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about this being late. This week has been so hectic, weirdly so, and the upcoming weeks probably won't be much better, but I'm doing my best to stick to some semblance of a schedule, so thank you for bearing with me and sticking along for the ride!

Ethan and Mark go out for coffee the next day. Well, they get to-go coffee and then sit in a uninhabited corner of the park, but the idea is the same. 

 

“So,” Ethan starts, once they've both settled on the grass. He swirls his straw in his drink. “I talked to Blank last night.” 

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Ethan sees Mark pause, cup halfway to his mouth. In the quiet, Ethan feels guilt squirm in his chest. 

 

Mark lifts the straw to his lip, taking a sip and swallowing before speaking. “How’d it go?” he asks. 

 

Ethan tries to read his tone, his expression, anything, but Mark is uncharacteristically stoic. “Good, I think,” Ethan proffers. 

 

Mark turns to him, finally, tone serious. “And you're okay?” 

 

Ethan nods. 

 

“What did you talk about?” 

 

Ethan takes a sip from his drink, looking away for a moment before returning his gaze to Mark, though he keeps his eyes focused on the older man’s shoulder rather than his face. “I asked him what he wanted, and he said he didn't want anything - that he couldn't want anything. And then he was talking about where my powers come from and how he's my mirror image and all that.” Ethan looks up to meet Mark's eyes. “He said my powers come from energy, not just music. Music is just the way I …  I dunno, harness it, I guess?” 

 

“He told you all that?” 

 

Ethan nods. “Have… have you ever had, like, a real conversation with Dark?” 

 

Mark shakes his head. “Dark’s less… forthcoming. I used to try to talk to him, bargain with him, but he doesn't answer any of my questions. And even when he does, I don't know if he's telling the truth.” 

 

Ethan hums, and the both of them return to staring into the distance. “Do you really think they're demons?” 

 

Mark leans back on his hand, taking another sip from his drink. “Well… yeah. What else would they be?” 

 

“I guess…” Ethan acquiesces. “But don't you think it's weird that they only showed up after we got our powers? And that they’re literally our alter egos? That we, like, made up?” 

 

Mark shrugs. “Maybe they just show up as whatever we’re most afraid of,” he offers. 

 

Ethan’s brows furrow. “But I'm not afraid of Blank. Or I wasn't before, anyway. Were you afraid of Dark? Like, before he became real?” 

 

Mark shrugs again, but this time it's more of a deflection than actual uncertainty. “I mean… maybe not afraid, but…” Mark's shoulders drop, the lines of his body going slack in surrender. “He came from a very dark part of my life. I was miserable, unmotivated. I guess I was always scared of being stuck in that place, of what I could become if I stayed there.” 

 

“I’m the opposite of what you want to be and the warning of what you might become. When your powers desert you, I am the future that waits for you on the other side,” Ethan echoes, the memory of phantom emptiness blooming in his chest. 

 

“What?” Mark asks, turning to look at Ethan. 

 

“That’s what Blank said to me,” Ethan continues, drawing his knees up so he can loosely wrap an arm around his legs. “He also said the place he’s in - when he isn’t in our world - is dark. A dark place.” 

 

Mark’s face betrays nothing, but there’s something bright and fearful in his eyes. “What does that mean?” 

 

“They’re coming from somewhere,” Ethan says, the truth of his words settling sharp and distinct in his throat. “They’re part of us. But how?” 

 

Mark’s reply is a hoarse whisper. “I don’t know.” 

 

“I guess we’ll find out,” Ethan says, another echo of mystery, and in the distance, he thinks he hears the click of metal on metal. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N (nothing to do with the story): So, I've been watching some YTers talk about like fanfiction and stuff, and I've gotta be honest, it just makes me feel horrible inside. Like, that guilt and self-hatred kind of horrible. I mean, first of all, it really bothers me how fanfiction is viewed as this dirty, almost worthless piece of fandom, especially when it comes to fandoms based around real people rather than fiction. Fanart, on the other hand, though it faces some of the same plagues as fanfiction (vulgarity, poor execution), is viewed as a worthwhile contribution, a valid contribution. I think this has something to do with the differences in consumption of each medium, especially in reference to time, and perhaps people's experiences with each medium, but the complete difference in how these things, both of which are essentially contributions to and components of fandom, are treated has always rubbed me the wrong way.   
> I could talk about this all day, but what has really been bothering me is how YouTubers treat fanfiction, and, arguably more importantly, how they feel about fanfiction. The immediate connotation with fanfiction is gratuitous, often artless, smut. Which just isn't the whole compendium (archive, if you will) of what fanfiction is. However, I realize that this perception will be difficult, if not impossible, to eradicate. However, what bothers me is that, based on this perception, many YTers are uncomfortable with fanfiction (for some this includes any and every type of fic, for others this discomfort is based primarily around shipping). And, the moral problem for me is, seeing those things, hearing what they have to say, and then continuing on my way: does that make me a bad person?   
> Because, to be perfectly honest, I write ship-based RPF content. I've written ship-based YT content. And I've posted it, knowing that some of those people were uncomfortable with similar content. I've steered away from anything explicit, and what I have posted is quite fluffy and sweet and, though romance based, very G rated. I've also made it available only to registered Archive users so it (hopefully) doesn't bother anyone who isn't looking for it. And, what I keep telling myself, is that the YouTubers who have mentioned discomfort only said they felt that way in reference to sexually explicit works, which mine would not count as. So, technically, I suppose I'm not going against their wishes (keep in mind, there's not much out there as far as responses to fanfic in general, most YTers mention it only once or twice if at all). However, I know this is just me justifying my choices to myself. I know that I might be making people uncomfortable, and yet I continue anyway.   
> Part of my blatant disregard comes from people requesting for me to write things - so far that's the reason I've written something openly shipping YTers, but I know that's also an excuse. If I didn't want to write it, I wouldn't. It's that simple. This is a complicated issue, and yet I continue to ask myself: Am I a bad person?   
> Or does it not matter at all? Will any contribution I make be lost in the wind with every other fanwork that bombards YTers? Does that make it any better?   
> I've always been a very strong advocate of freedom of speech; the internet is a place where, I believe, any story can be shared. And, becoming a public figure, one should expect to see some unsavory works relating to oneself. But just because it is ALLOWED, that does not make it RIGHT. And so I ask myself, what am I? Bad? Good? Nothing?   
> And the questions haunts me, like guilt and bad memories. And so I put it here, and I want to ask you, anyone who takes the time to read this, what do you think? Where is the line? Is there one at all? And does it matter if we cross it?   
> Anyway, this is my fandom diary now, so thanks for reading, love you all, sorry this was so long, try not to hate me.   
> P.S. This is a work that is not ship-based, so I feel like this at least is okay? Probably?


	16. I Won't Be Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Collab

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You made this place  
> for broken things  
> but some things can't be fixed.  
> Go back to sleep..." 
> 
> I'm sorry, but when I watched that vid I was literally like ??? Excavate??? My fic?? !!  
> Like, it highkey reminded me of some of the themes I've touched on. I was SHOOK

Later, when the sun bleeds orange and red into the sky and bugs start nipping at their skin, both of them head over to Mark’s house, where they are greeted by an enthusiastic, bouncing Chica. They end up on the couch, Chica’s head resting on Mark’s thigh while her tail thumps against the cushion behind her. 

 

“So,” Mark starts. “I've been thinking.” 

 

“Miraculous,” Ethan mumbles, casually picking at his nails despite the grin on his face. 

 

“Fuck you,” Mark responds without missing a beat. “As I was saying, I've been thinking about combining our powers somehow. Seeing how they interact with each other.” 

 

Ethan looks up at Mark, his smile broadening. “A magical powers collab.” 

 

“Ew,” Mark answers. “But in essence, yes. We should try it.” 

 

Ethan starts a little, looking around for no logical reason. “Wait, like… Right now?” 

 

Mark throws up a hand. “Yeah! Why not? No harm in trying, right?” 

 

“Right,” Ethan echoes, though apprehension crawls along his shoulders. 

 

“Great! Come over here.” Mark gestures grandly, practically bouncing on his feet as Ethan clambers over to him and Chica scampers away, presumably to go stare at squirrels or something of the like. 

 

Ethan stands next to his friend, glancing between their limp hands. “Okay… so, now what?” 

 

“Well, and hear me out here, I was thinking that we could sing together. I think that's the most effective thing for both of us.” 

 

“Oh, please don't tell me you chose one of those corny Disney songs.” 

 

“Love is an open DOOOOOR,” Mark bellows, sliding across the floor and throwing his arms wide. 

 

“NoooOoOO,” Ethan screeches back, clapping his hands over his ears. 

 

“I'm kidding, I'm kidding!” Mark exclaims with a grin as Ethan lowers his hands. “I know you're an uncultured swine who hasn't meticulously studied the critically acclaimed work that is Frozen. However, that being said, I don't think a nice Disney classic will do us wrong.” 

 

Ethan nods along, bouncing his head with his own words. “Something powerful.” 

 

“Manly!” Mark supplies. 

 

“Buff.” 

 

“Ripped.” 

 

“So, Mulan then?” Ethan asks. 

 

“You read my mind,” Mark replies, queuing up the song on his phone. 

 

As the music starts the two of them grin at each other. 

 

“Let’s get down to business,” Ethan bursts out, “to defeat the Huns.” A spike of bright blue magic rockets out from his upturned palm. 

 

“Did they send me daughters,” Mark chimes in, extending his hand beside Ethan’s. “When I asked for sons?” From his hand, a twisted spire of pink emerges, like a drill bit piercing through wood. 

 

“You’re the saddest bunch I’ve ever met, but you can bet before we’re through, mister, I’ll make a man out of you,” they finish in unison, watching their respective colors stretch up toward the ceiling. As the next verse begins, Ethan focuses on the sound of Mark’s voice harmonizing with his own, the bass and pitch that balance into one cohesive sound. He pushes his magic forward, urging it to fill the sliver of space between Mark’s hand and his own. 

 

“Tranquil as a forest.” Both towers begin to lean toward each other, as if pulled by a magnet. “But on fire within.” The spires cross, creating an X between the two men. “Once you find your center.” Finally, they make contact, and Ethan feels a rush of adrenaline, power surging through his veins, a craving for something he can’t describe. “You are sure to win.” It fills him up and pours itself into his bones. He feels electric, unstoppable, freed. 

 

He barely processes the next verse, caught up in the feeling surging beneath his skin, the smile of reckless abandon that stretches beneath the blue glow of Mark’s eyes, Ethan’s magic swirling in his irises. Between them, their magic spirals together, each winding into the other as they reach into the air. As Ethan watches, the two splinter at the top, both colors branching outwards towards the walls of the room like the boughs of an intricate tree. The glow stains his eyes and everything around them, bathing every surface in pink and blue and the fainest traces of purple. Yet, within the magic, purple does not appear. The two forces twine closer and closer, yet remain distinctly separate. 

 

“Be a man,” the song bellows. “We must be swift as the coursing river.” The power crackles in Ethan’s chest, growing stronger and stronger as their combined magic cascades around them. “Be a man.” He lets the energy fill his body and soar through his fingers. As he watches, the magic begins to expand, smaller spikes pushing out of the blue of his magic, small and sharp like thorns on a vine. “With all the force of a great typhoon.” He doesn’t feel afraid. “Be a man.” The spikes begin to multiply, filling all available space, pressing closer and closer, but Ethan doesn’t feel afraid. “With all the strength of a raging fire.” 

 

“Ethan, stop!” He hears Mark’s voice distantly, as if from a memory of a dream. But then Mark makes a move to pull away, and thunderous, hideous anger fills Ethan’s body. He wants, craves, needs to have this, to keep this, and the yearning is so strong that it drowns out every other thought in Ethan’s head. 

 

“No!” Ethan roars, in a voice that doesn’t sound like his own, a voice that echoes and doubles and layers itself, deep and furious and not quite human. But he doesn’t care about that, not right now, not as he’s reaching forward and grabbing Mark’s wrist as tightly as he can, he can’t let him get away, and pulling Mark forward again. 

 

Mark stumbles closer, but once he regains his balance he plants his feet and stares into Ethan’s eyes, like a challenge, like it’s his right, and that same fervid anger barrels forward and Ethan snarls, digging his nails into Mark’s wrist. But Mark doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t say a word, and as Ethan watches in horror, the pink glow of Mark’s magic vanishes from the room. 

 

Ethan throws Mark’s hand away, curling his hands into fists. He’s angry, so angry, furious, but suddenly he can’t remember why. Ethan looks down at his hands. They’re grey as ash, and as he moves them the image reverberates in shades of red and blue, like he’s watching a bad 3D movie. 

 

The last of the anger drains from his body, and he looks up at his friend, his voice shaking. “Mark?” 

 

“Get. Out. Of. My. Friend,” Mark growls. 

 

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” Ethan says, in that too deep voice. Then he blacks out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOwow, an early (meaning on time but just earlier in the day lol guess who sucks at keeping a schedule) update?? Wild  
> Get ready for another busy busy week when I might not update on time, so I guess here's this early one in preparation of forever late ones.  
> Also Chica finally made an appearance, so there's that at least.


	17. There'll Be A Kid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really need to read up on my Markiplier ego lore.  
> TW for something similar to a panic attack.

When Ethan wakes up he’s falling. He doesn’t even have time to be scared before someone’s catching him. Ethan stumbles, managing to get back on unsteady feet, but still resting heavily on the person behind him. “... Shit,” he says eloquently, eyes fluttering. He sways, watching the world roll like a freed marble as he’s guided to sit on the couch. Once he’s seated the world starts to stabilize again. He glances at the person beside him, and sees his friend, the only person who knows his secret, staring at him in concern. “Mark?” he mumbles, tongue thick and awkward in his mouth. 

 

And then something hits him, something born of the blackness in Mark’s eyes, the glimmer of light on his pupils, and the memory of anger comes rushing back, pain so strong it became longing, and deep resentment and bitterness that gouges a chasm in his chest. “Something - something happened,” Ethan slurs breathlessly, inhaling so suddenly that shooting pain blooms in his lungs. “I was - it was - why is this happening?! What was that? I felt it -” Ethan cuts himself off, gasping for air. “He was angry, I was angry, I wanted -” He gasps again, he can’t breathe, why can’t he breathe? “I wanted to  _ hurt _ you. I - I was so sad and angry, it hurt so much, why-” He can’t breathe, he really can’t breathe, his chest is burning because he’s not breathing. “Mark, Mark, help-” Ethan realizes belatedly that Mark’s hand is on his shoulder, Mark is speaking, how long has he been doing that? 

 

“Breathe, Ethan,” Mark says, low and steady. His thumb rubs circles over Ethan’s skin, repetitive and grounding. “Take a deep breath. In, 1, 2, 3. Out, 1, 2, 3.” Mark inhales and exhales slowly, his free hand hovering up and down in front of his chest in time with his breathing. 

 

Ethan tries to copy him, but his body shakes, his breathing rattles, and tears sting in his eyes. He takes another quivering breath, watching the rise and fall of Mark’s hand, and then he notices the cuts. Small, shallow wounds litter the skin of Mark’s arm, seemingly at random, some welling with blood and others just pink with irritation. Ethan inhales too quickly, a cough ripping through him, still staring at Mark’s arm. “Your arm,” Ethan chokes. “I - I hurt you.” 

 

“No, no, it’s okay,” Mark placates, raising a hand. “They’re small. I’ll be fine, Just some scratches from the thorns, okay? You’re okay. I’m okay.” 

 

Ethan tries to nod but his body won’t listen to him, he just keeps taking short, stunted breaths that fuel the fire in his lungs. “What if - what if I can’t control it? What if I hurt you again? What if I hurt someone else? I don’t want - I can’t - what do I do?!” Ethan claws at his own chest, nails raking over his neck and collarbone and shirt, anxious and useless. His skin tingles with pain but it doesn’t give him an answer. He can’t do this; he can’t be this  _ thing.  _ But he can’t fight it either. 

 

Mark grabs Ethan’s wrist, forcing Ethan’s hand away from his body. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re not going to hurt anyone, okay?” Ethan stares into the deep brown of Mark’s eyes, looking for a cure, looking for salvation, but it’s too dark to find his way. “C’mon, breathe with me again. In… out…” Even though it can’t save him, Ethan holds Mark gaze, and there is some comfort in that, enough that he can begin to follow Mark’s directions, though his breathing is a loud rasp. “That’s it. Everything’s going to be okay,” Mark continues. “You’re doing great, Ethan. You’re okay.” 

 

When his lungs stop protesting, Ethan calms down a bit, sagging in Mark’s hold. He feels a great, deep sense of sadness, like a heavy weight that he knows he’ll carry for the rest of his life. He doesn’t know if it’s his own. He raises his head to look at Mark, and he thinks maybe he sees the glisten of tears in Mark’s eyes as well. “I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Ethan whispers, like he thinks someone might be listening. 

 

“I know,” Mark says. “I know.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is kinda short. This week has been very busy. I don't know if I'll have more time in the coming weeks, but I will try to at least post something, even if it's small, on schedule. See you next time! 
> 
> P.S. Did anyone see MatPat's Markiplier theory video? Like, BOI  
> But I also haven't watched any of Mark's explanation vids (because they're literal hours long) but now I feel like I really need to. It's just such a time commitment, y'know?


	18. With Some Headphones Covering His Ears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Here we are. I am alive. And I am writing. Slowly. Supremely slowly.   
> So here's a fun mid-week update to make up for my absence, which will likely continue, but know that I'm here and reading your comments and I appreciate anyone who takes the time to read my work. Also, this chapter is from Mark's pov! It doesn't offer any particular insights, but it's kinda a fun change, yeah? Maybe a little surprise for being so patient with me?   
> Let's pretend it was an intentional little treat instead of me wildly shifting perspectives like the inconstant writer that I am.   
> Enjoy!

It takes a few minutes to coax Ethan out of Mark’s arms, but eventually Mark manages to extricate himself, wrap Ethan in a blanket, and hurry to pop a cup into the keurig. He hops from one foot to the other while he waits, glancing over at Ethan’s huddled form, where only his hair sticking over the top of the couch. 

 

It's only a few moments before the machine gurgles and fills the cup, but Mark already feels like he's buzzing with anxiety, his hands practically vibrating. It doesn't feel right to leave Ethan alone, not when he's like this. So as soon as the drink is done Mark grabs it and rushes back over, peering over the back of the couch at Ethan's cocooned form. 

 

He scoots around to sit next to Ethan, holding out the cup like an offering. “Hey, bud…” Mark coos, putting a hand on the lump that is probably Ethan's shoulder. “I made you some hot chocolate.” 

 

Ethan turns toward him, his face, the only visible part of his body, framed by the softness of the blanket. 

 

“I think it'll make you feel better,” Mark cajoles, holding the mug out again. 

 

Ethan mouth cracks into a smile, and even though it's weak, it seems genuine. “They're not dementors, Mark,” he says with a watery laugh. 

 

Mark smiles back at him. “You never know. Now drink up.” 

 

One arm emerges from the mass, slim fingers wrapping around the handle of the mug. Ethan takes a careful sip, humming happily as he drinks. 

 

Mark just watches in content, waiting until Ethan has stopped shaking to speak again. “So I don't know if this is the best time to tell you, but Sean is coming over next week. He’s going to stay with me for a while.” 

 

To Mark's relief, Ethan lights up at the news. “For how long?” 

 

Mark shrugs. “A couple of weeks, maybe?” 

 

“And we’ll get to hang out?” Ethan prompts, the mug all but forgotten in his hands. 

 

“Of course,” Mark assures him. “We’ll probably do some collabs, too.” Mark adds. 

 

Ethan pales, almost imperceptibly, but there’s something in his expression that gives Mark pause. 

 

“Not like this. This won’t happen again. Dark is my burden bear.” Mark says. 

 

Ethan’s face tilts, his features weighed down by sadness. “He’s strong,” Ethan notes, quiet and honest. 

 

“Not as strong as me,” Mark promises. A kernel of doubt festers in his chest, the beginning of an infection, but Mark has to believe that it will shrivel in the sun, that his light will drive back the darkness just like it has every other time he faced the shadows. It’s all he is, all he has, and his hope keeps it alive. That has to be enough. It has to be. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's that? Another YouTuber added to the mix?? How exciting! 
> 
> Guys, I really care about this story. I like being part of this community, I like working on a plot-based fic, I like piecing this together and hearing what you guys think.   
> But I've been really stressed lately. And busy. So busy. Hell, I've barely had time to watch any of Mark's or Ethan's videos for the past couple of weeks (which is really cutting down for me). I watched Mark's 2 minute 'I'm in Korea' update and I can watch some 8-10 minute vids, but even then it's on 2x speed so it takes up less time. I'm exhausted.   
> So updates are gonna be sporadic. I'm really fine, but this transition has taken more out of me than I anticipated.   
> Just know that I'm not giving up on this story or this community.   
> And if you made it this far, I know I say this a lot, but thank you. It makes a difference.


	19. Find Himself In The Sound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slow it down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter? From Author McAbsent themself? ???!!!   
> Yes, it is I, the big dumb who can't manage their time. This chapter is a little longer? Does that make it better...??   
> Um, not much happens in this chapter, but I felt like it would make sense to slow down again and show how Ethan is processing everything. Sorry if it's not terribly interesting :(   
> Anyway, I'm alive and working on this story, I'm just a big dumb.   
> Hope y'all enjoy!

Ethan stays at Mark’s for the night. He doesn't want to be alone right now. Part of him is afraid that he'll feel that burning, pulsing anger flood his body again, that he'll do something before he can stop himself, that it will be his fault that something happens that can never be undone. Another part of him is afraid that if he falls asleep, he'll wake up as something else. He's afraid next time he opens his eyes they'll be empty and black. He's afraid that when he rises he won't even have his fear. 

 

He stares at the ceiling for a long time, trying to find a comfortable way to lay on the couch. He looks over to the clock that blinks beneath the TV. 2am. He's been trying to sleep for almost three hours. He closes his eyes, trying to relax his body. 

 

Suddenly, from the darkness of the house, he hears something. Ethan's eyes shoot open, his body going tense. 

 

He stills his breathing and strains his ears, listening. There it is again, a quiet, steady thumping sound coming from down the hall. Ethan's heart leaps in his chest, fear hot in his veins. 

 

He doesn't want to face whatever these things are again, not when the memory of black, soulless eyes is still so fresh in his mind, suddenly stained in echoes of red and blue. 

 

But what if Mark needs him? What if Mark is in danger and Ethan's the only one who can help him? Fuck. 

 

Ethan creeps out from under the covers, peering down the hall towards Mark's room. A shiver passes through his body as fear settles across his shoulders. He steps forward, his gaze darting between the floor and the doorway. As he approaches Mark's room, the thumping gets louder. Ethan pictures Mark banging his own head against the wall until blood drops from his hairline. He pictures Mark convulsing rhymically on the floor while a blue and red spector watches from above. Fear pounds in Ethan’s chest as he nudges the door open, leaning forward to search the darkness of the room. 

 

He sees Mark sprawled across the bed, cast in the bluish glow of moonlight filtering through the window shades. There’s no glitching ghost looming overhead, no static-filled eyes peering from the closet. Then Ethan’s sees it: a flash of movement on the ground, something dark and large and… furry? Ethan blinks a couple of times and sees Chica staring back at him, her tail wagging incessantly and thumping against the floor. Ethan feels relief shudder through him like a fever leaving his body. It was just Chica. 

 

Ethan pads over to her, kneeling down to scratch behind her ears. She nudges at him excitedly, bumping their faces together as her tail speeds up. “Shh…” Ethan whispers to her, glancing over at Mark, who still seems to be fast asleep. “I know, I know, you’re excited.” After a couple more pets Chica calms down, flopping her head into Ethan’s lap. Ethan leans back against the wall, running his hand over her fur. She’s warm and soft, and Ethan feels almost… safe. It can’t hurt to close his eyes for just a few minutes, right? 

  
  


Ethan wakes up on the floor, something soft and warm tickling his face. He blinks his eyes open to see golden fur illuminated in the glow of morning. It's just Chica, he thinks to himself, comforted by her presence. He's about to drift back off when he remembers: it's not just Chica. He didn't go back to bed last night. He's still in Mark's room. 

 

Ethan bolts upright, looking over to the bed in the hopes that Mark is still asleep, but he has no such luck. He makes eye contact with a grinning Mark, who is standing by the dresser, watching him in amusement. “Sleep well?” Mark asks, smirking. 

 

Ethan narrows his eyes. “Why don't you go style your hair and leave me alone?” 

 

Mark pouts, but grabs his clothes and heads to the bathroom. “I don't style my hair…” Ethan hears him mutter under his breath. Ethan allows himself a small smile before getting ready as well. 

  
  


By the time Ethan has gotten dressed and washed up, Mark is already waiting in the kitchen with a bowl of cereal, the box and a jug of milk left on the counter. Mark gestures toward the measly spread when Ethan comes in, not pausing in shoveling food into his mouth. “Happy birthday,” he says, even though it is not Ethan's birthday by any possible stretch of the imagination. 

 

“Gourmet…” Ethan teases, pouring himself a bowl and putting the food away. He sits down across from Mark, eating his own cereal a bit more slowly than the other man, occasionally glancing up to see Mark looking at him. “What?” Ethan finally asks around a mouthful of cereal. 

 

Mark looks at him for a little longer than strictly necessary before speaking. “I think you should try and use your magic today.” 

 

Ethan stiffens, the memory of anger rushing hot through his veins flashing across his mind. 

 

Some of the stoicism of Mark's face drains away at Ethan's reaction. “We just need to make sure it's out of your system,” Mark explains, voice gentler than usual. 

 

_ Not it,  _ Ethan thinks, the thought unbidden and stark,  _ he.  _ But Ethan just nods, returning to his cereal. He finishes eating as Mark is placing his own dish in the dishwasher, and Ethan gets up to join him in the kitchen and put his bowl away as well. The two of them look at each other in silence for a moment. Then Ethan sighs, holding out his hand, palm up. He lets music trickle from his lips, filling the air around them. In his hand, a tiny curl of magic blooms from his palm, gracefully climbing upwards as Ethan continues. 

 

Mark watches on silently, his eyes searching and intent. Something about that look feels wrong. Ethan has a strangely strong urge to protect the magic, to shield it from that accusing glare. There's an innocence to it, this thing made of music and light. It hasn’t done anything wrong. 

 

Abruptly, Ethan lets the magic fade, closing his hand and letting it fall to his side. Mark smiles. Or maybe it’s a grimace. His mouth barely even twitches, but warmth returns to his eyes. Ethan wonders why he ever doubted Mark in the first place. 

 

Mark nods, mostly to himself. “Well,” he says, wiping his palms on his pants, “I’m going to go film some videos. Are you gonna head home or stay here?” 

 

“Is it okay if I stay here for now?” Ethan asks tentatively. “I have a couple extra videos in case I get sick, so I can just post those and I…” Ethan doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to say  _ I was scared, and I’m still scared. I don’t know if he’ll come back and you’re the only one who’s ever been able to save me.  _

 

Somehow, Mark seems to understand. “Of course,” he says easily. “Just knock if you need anything. You’ll be okay out here?” 

 

Ethan nods. “Thanks, Mark.” He wants to pull the other man into a hug, but he doesn’t. Instead, he watches Mark grab his phone and head to his recording room, disappearing from sight. Once he’s gone, Ethan pulls out his laptop and settles down on the couch, quickly putting up one of his spare videos. It’s a little less polished than he would usually like, and he doesn’t think it’s particularly interesting, but it was only filmed about a week ago, so no one should be the wiser. While it uploads Ethan skims through twitter, glancing through the seemingly endless stream of mentions and comments. He doesn’t reply to anything - now isn’t the time for that - but he enjoys scrolling through it all the same. He loves what he does. He loves creating things, the process of filming and editing and video, but more than anything he loves the community. It feels more permanent than anything else he’s ever done, even though it is probably the most ephemeral part of his work. Maybe permanent isn’t the right word, but there’s something about the impact of the community that feels stronger than anything else. It means something. It’s human and connected and  _ real _ . It’s hard to articulate, but Ethan knows, he knows somewhere deeper than he can explain, that this is what it means to be human: feeling, connecting, caring about someone other than yourself. 

 

Sometimes Ethan wishes he could experience it, just for a little while. He’s barely a part of his own community. He’s the king on top of a mountain. He can travel among everyone else, but he’ll never be treated the same. He’s the bringer of death and the savior, armed with scythe and halo. He has so much power and no matter what he does he can’t escape that burden. It’s a privilege, of course, but it separates him. He’s alone, in a throng of people who think they love him. 

 

Something cold and wet nudges at his hand, drawing Ethan out of his thoughts. His eyes burn from staring at his screen, and when he blinks a square of color stains his vision. He turns to see Chica sniffing at his hand, her tongue darting out the lick his fingers. A sigh of a giggle leaves Ethan’s lips as he pets her head, scratching behind her ears. 

 

He thinks back to what Mark said about using his magic, making sure that Dark was out of his system, making sure Ethan was back in control. 

 

When Ethan begins to sing, the sound feels familiar pouring from his mouth, as familiar as the blue glow of what it forms. His old friend materializes at his feet, and Ethan watches with a strange ache in his chest as Blue tumbles from the couch to the floor. Chica turns around, bouncing a little when she catches sight of the creature. Blue scampers over Chica’s shoulders, and Chica makes what can only be described as a squeak of excitement. Blue darts away, and Ethan watches as Chica pursues, the two jumping and chasing each other as they play. 

 

Watching them comforts Ethan. He’s still good. This power, this magic, is still good. It can help people, bring wonder and happiness. It can hurt people, too. The thought enters Ethan’s mind before he can stop it, but it doesn’t feel as bad as before. It can hurt and heal. It can be used for good or bad. As long as Ethan remains in control, he can make sure it never hurts anyone again. He has to. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I promise I didn't forget about Sean. I'm getting there. We all getting there.   
> As always, thank you for all the support on this story. It's a great motivator! x

**Author's Note:**

> Work title and chapter titles are all from Macklemore's 'Excavate' unless otherwise stated. 
> 
> A/N: Hey all. I really wanted to contribute something beautiful to this community, and since visual art isn't really my forte, this is what I came up with. It might not be 'beautiful,' but I'm actually really proud of how it came out.   
> I'd love to get more involved in this community, but I'm very hesitant about participating in large public forums like Twitter or YouTube comments, so here I am on Archive.   
> Anyway, I hope some people enjoy this; I'd love to hear any feedback you guys have and get a little more involved in this community.   
> Thanks for reading!


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